


Perennial

by Menirva



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Angst, Faerie AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OTB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bane is sent on his journey to obtain the mysterious blue flower on the mountainside and earn his initiation into the League of Shadows, he finds much more than he could have anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The cold is not so terrible if he chooses not to think about it, to accept it, as he did the constant ache and pain in his body, as something he cannot change and so must simply acknowledge and move on from. The snow is thick under his boots, falling from the air in big puffs that land on his wool coat. He has been traveling so many miles, so many hours, for the elusive flower that is needed to prove his dedication.  
  
Were it only for himself, he would not bother, but this is for her. He needs the knowledge they can give him. He needs to be accepted by them so he can learn their secrets and strength, can learn how to always be able to protect her. He can feel himself stronger now, it is good after so long of being weak, huddled and broken on the floors of the pit, but it is not enough. The world outside is strange and dangerous, and he needs to be everything he can for her.  
  
So he searches for a flash of blue anywhere among the seemingly endless scenery of white and gray. He almost misses it. It comes to the point where he must again consider finding somewhere to shelter himself for the night so that he might continue in the morning. He is wary to do it, though, to leave her for any longer than needed, and it has been two days already. The chemicals will only last so much longer, and he is hungry, not daring to take the mask off while he is so far away from any sort of aid should something go wrong.  
  
A streak of blue catches his eye, stuck up high in a crevice. It is no easy task to climb the accompanying rocks to reach it. His hands are numb and make gripping hard, but he climbs, braces himself onto the thin ledge and looks down, feeling a flash of triumph when he sees the bright blue flower that he has been searching for.  
  
He reaches out to pluck it then stops, pulling his hand back in confusion when it shakes with the wind.  
  
There is no wind.  
  
He considers it part of his imagination and begins to reach again when he hears a small noise, like a buzzing from inside of it; a hornet, perhaps. He does not wish to be stung, and so he carefully reaches to open the flower a little, to coax the creature into leaving without angering it.  
  
But it is not a hornet. Bane is uncertain what it is. He has never seen such a thing before in his life, never heard any tale in the pit of tiny men who live inside of flowers. It seems impossible, but there it is, fast asleep with wild little locks of brown hair that lick up into the air and a small pair of wings unlike any he has seen before.  
  
He feels compelled to reach out and run the back of his finger slowly along its back, if only to convince himself that what he is seeing cannot be real. He stares, stunned to see the tiny being shiver at the touch, sit up and start chittering at him—quite in annoyance, if its tone is anything to go by, or the tiny fist being shaken at him. The noises are strange, deep, like the croak of a frog, but somehow almost musical.  
  
He looks down at it, puzzled until it finally looks downright exasperated at him, stands and flits up to his face. There is a sudden tiny press of warmth to his forehead, just beside his mask. The puzzling creature has kissed him.  
  
"There, now. Why are you touching me with your cold, cold fingers?" it demands, and Bane can suddenly understand what it is saying. It is as if the tiny chitters and croaks suddenly make sense to his ears. He cannot comprehend such a thing, but he has been asked a fair enough question.  
  
"Forgive me. I was not quite certain you were real, and you were sleeping in something I require."  
  
"Have you no eyes? I am very real; can you not see me? Hear me? But you, you touch with cold fingers, and now you say you want my flower?"  
  
"Your flower?"  
  
"I am certain you saw me sleeping in it." He rubs his hands over his arms, seeming chilled in the cool air. "Why do you need it? Surely you are too big to fit."  
  
"I have no doubt that I am, but I need it to complete my journey. You will simply have to find another place to sleep."  
  
"You are a thief!" The little creature scowls and that gives Bane pause. He has never been one to resort to thievery.  
  
"Perhaps I can trade for it," he offers instead.  
  
"Hmm, yes." It settles and flits back down to the flower. "I do like trades. What will you give me?"  
  
"I am afraid I do not have much." His supplies are low. He wonders if perhaps building a fire would be sufficient, but realizes that it is a temporary solution. He hesitates. "I could keep you warm, I suppose, find a new place for you to dwell."  
  
"In your house? Yes, I like this."  
  
"That is not what I intend—"  
  
"I accept. Take me to your dwelling, and you may have my flower." He nods, as if he is the one to have made quite a reasonable request. Perhaps it is; Bane would simply like to head home at this point, and so he finds himself nodding.  
  
"Very well; I suppose you may come, in exchange."  
  
He can see a small, bright grin on the creature’s face, and he hops into the air. "Good. You are a wise... what are you even, besides a thief?"  
  
Bane snorts softly. "I am a human, I suppose. And what are you?"  
  
"I am a Barsad," he is informed seriously, "and a warrior, and a fae."  
  
Fae; the word sounds almost familiar, something that tingles in the back of his brain but that he cannot quite grasp.  
  
"My name is Bane."  
  
"Tell me, Bane, why do you want my flower so badly?" Barsad flies up to land in his shoulder, touching the soft inner wool of the collar curiously. "It is a fine flower if you are small enough to sleep in it, but nothing special."  
  
"It is not for me. It is for a young girl, for a quest in which I must partake to keep her safe."  
  
Barsad makes a soft, interested sound. "Ahh, a quest. Quests are very important. You should have told me; I would have been more agreeable."  
  
"I find that hard to believe," he says, and cannot help but be amused at the throaty chuckle by his ear.  
  
"You are probably right. Now, you must warm your hands first," he demands, and Bane finds himself obliging, tucking them into the front of his coat until they are thawed.

  
When they finally make their trek down from the mountain, Bane feels frozen through, feels the tiny flutters of gossamer wings like a heartbeat as he cups him between his palms to keep the tiny creature in his hands warm. The brilliant blue flower he plucked him from is tucked into a buttonhole in his coat. It’s a fair trade, warmth for warmth. He was more than surprised to find the tiny, ornery creature curled up inside of his prize, but his terms were agreed to easily enough.  
  
When they are back in his small room, he dares to un-cup his hands, a flash of worry running through him that he’s crushed the tiny being until he sees him sit up slowly, small, sleepy eyes narrowing and adjusting to the darkness in his bedchambers.  
  
“It is warmer than a flower,” he agrees cautiously.  
  
Bane strikes a match and sets him down carefully by a low burning candle. He watches how Barsad stretches his wings out, carefully fanning them close to the flame to warm them. Bane is mesmerized by how they look like brilliant red stained glass, casting beautiful reflections onto the small table. The tiny faerie looks like a figurine as he twists around, a blowgun across his back attached by a thin blade of grass. Red and black tattoos swirl across his lithe body, and the only other stitch of clothing on the creature is a small scrap of fabric serving as a loin cloth.  
  
“I’m not sure where to put you to sleep,” he says finally, shaking himself from watching.  
  
Barsad ruffs his hand through his own hair to flick extra water from melting snow out of it, scratching through his beard. His small mouth cracks open into a wide yawn. “You are the one who took my flower. I am sure you can come up with something warm. What of this? It looks soft.”  
  
His voice sounds almost awed, and Bane watches as he touches the thick red scarf Bane had been carefully knitting to pass the time.  
  
“The scarf? Would you like to sleep in that?”  
  
Barsad seems to consider it and nods. “It must be kept warm, though.”  
  
Bane thinks that he’s being a bit pushy, but is amused, relents, and lies down, draping the scarf over his own chest to keep it warm. The small fae unhooks his blowgun from across his shoulders and sets it aside before he settles into the thick material, making a noise of contentment when Bane wraps it around his small form.  
  
“Goodnight then, I suppose,” he says in amusement, hearing a tiny snore emanating from the soft wool before he stretches his arms behind his head, careful not to move in his own sleep.  
  
When he wakes in the morning, the scarf is empty, and he wonders if the entire incident was a hallucination brought on by the bitter temperatures. Then the light of the candle flickering catches his eye and he looks over to it, sees Barsad crouched beside it, the carcass of a dead rodent beside him.  
  
"You sleep very late; humans are lazy creatures," he observes, and Bane watches as he holds a stick over the flame, having skewered a chunk of flesh from his kill onto it to roast.  
  
"Only one of us walked to the top of a mountain and back; one napped in the palm of the other’s warm hands."  
  
Barsad grins at him suddenly, clearly enjoying the argument. "They are very warm. Still, because you are lazy, I caught us breakfast."  
  
"That is very courteous of you." He raises a brow at the dead rat; it is easily several inches longer than Barsad is tall. Put into perspective, it is quite a feat. "You hunted this?"  
  
"Of course." He pulls the skewer back, and Bane watches him bite down into the chunk of meat with a mouthful of tiny, sharp teeth. "I am a warrior," he tells him, juices from his kill dripping down his chin.  
  
"You are very fearsome, indeed," he agrees. He politely declines his portion of the rat. It's far from the worst food he's eaten in the pit, but the tiny bones would be difficult to manage. Instead, he watches Barsad curiously as he devours his food with enthusiasm.  
  
There is a rapping on the door, and he hears Talia call out softly for him.  
  
“Your quest is here?” He stands up on the small table, licking the blood and grease from his fingertips. "Good. I wish to see her."  
  
"I do not think that would be wise," Bane whispers, tossing the scarf on top of Barsad, hearing him yelp indignantly.  
  
"I wish to see, not be buried!"  
  
"Then hide, watch." He shakes his head, relaxing when the little bundle goes still so he can open the door and greet Talia.


	2. Chapter 2

Talia looks up at him, solemn and serious. "Father wants to see you today, in the ceremony room."  
  
He nods and ushers her inside. Behind closed doors her body relaxes from stiffness, and he curls an arm around her., "I will be there shortly."  
  
"Did you find it?" she asks hopefully.  
  
He taps her nose, making her rub it. "It is in my coat. I told you I would not fail for you."  
  
Her sullen mood lifts and she squeezes him, lets him gather her up into his arms for a better embrace. "I worried. I had bad dreams while you were gone."  
  
"Think nothing of them, habibti." He runs his fingers over her short tufts of hair when he sets her down. This training he undergoes now is for her, to keep her safe, and he would fight till his death for it. "You know I will never leave you."  
  
"You made me leave you." She clutches onto his shirt, her eyes going to his mask, and there is so much guilt there he cannot stand it. He takes her rough little hands and squeezes them into his own. "All that I have endured is a small price to pay to take you to the sun, habibti; think no more of it."  
  
He fleetingly wishes he could press a kiss to her forehead as he had done so many times in the pit, but the desire is gone quickly. He strokes a thumb across her eyebrow, instead, and when she leaves, there is a small bounce to her step that was not there before.  
  
"Your quest looked very peculiar," Barsad tells him when he climbs out from hiding beneath the scarf, his wings tilted along with his head.  
  
"Peculiar?" he asks as he closes the door carefully, latching it to be certain there are no unexpected visitors. He is not even certain how he would explain such a thing.  
  
"Yes; she does not have your face."  
  
"My—" he stops in realization. "You think all people have my face?" He touches his hand to his mask lightly. He almost tells him it is not his face, but that seems like a lie.   
  
"Of course; all fae have the same face—eyes, lips, nose. Do humans not?"  
  
"It is... complicated," he finally tells him when he sits back down onto his pallet beside him. "This is my face now, but I used to have a face like hers."  
  
"Did you have lips instead of holes?" Barsad asks as he studies his face closely as if to try to picture it.   
  
Bane chuckles at the question. "You think I have no lips? They are beneath the holes."  
  
Barsad blinks in shock then squints his eyes at him suspiciously. "You are tugging my wings," he accuses.  
  
"Not at all," he assures him, "they are there."  
  
"Let me see," Barsad demands, suddenly flitting in front of his face. His tiny fingers hold onto the grate of the mask and he tries to peek into the darkness there.  
  
"Be careful," he warns, seeing his breathe puff out through Barsad's wild crop of hair, "there are chemicals."  
  
"Feh, I do not see—" he stops suddenly, eyes crossing, and his wings go motionless mid-flutter.  
  
Bane shoots his hands up to catch him up in his palms as he splays out in them, looking completely dazed. "Are you alright?" He worries until Barsad's tiny wings beat against his skin and he blinks several times slowly.  
  
"I can see so many stars!" he announces in a hushed awe.  
  
Bane snorts and has to calmly hold his hand over the grate to prevent him from trying to take another sniff before he sets him back down onto the scarf. "I must go prepare for a ritual. I trust you will be fine here with your rat?"  
  
He takes the dazed blink as a yes.  
  
He purifies himself for the ritual. There is no time to eat or replenish his mask with Ra's al Ghul waiting for his arrival. When he leaves the room, he glances back to see Barsad rolling around on the scarf and humming contently. He shakes his head slightly, having a quiet chuckle before what promises to be a grueling ordeal.  
  
The trials are just as strenuous as imagined. The breathing of the strange flower, the terrifying hallucinations and struggles. Each time he fears he will fail, he pictures Talia, her quiet, fierce eyes, and he endures for her. By the end of it, he is nearly dragged back to his room to recover, a satchel of food and fresh medication sent in with him. He is in a daze, the plant’s properties still at the edges of his mind, making the shadows on his wall look strange and monstrous.  
  
He hears noise beside him, sees movement at the corner of his eyes.  
  
"What has happened to you?"  
  
He groans; the trials have made him forget his unexpected bunkmate. "Part of my quest," he manages before closing his eyes, the world growing sluggish. As he drops into exhaustion, he feels the draping of his scarf across him and the soft hum of wings.  
  
Waking is a challenge in itself. The chemicals are nearing their end and he feels the pain, always there but held at bay, slowly seeping back into his veins. It takes several deep breaths of the waning medication until he is able to sit up with a low groan, hands securing onto the satchel left for him. He has to work carefully, calmly even though each time he lifts the mask even for the brief time to eat or change the chemicals there is a curl of fear in the pit of his stomach that he will be left weak again, helpless.  
  
Once changed, he takes several slow inhales of the fresh medication, allowing himself to calm before he lifts the mask again slightly, just enough to clear his mouth so he can eat the supplies he has been given as quickly as possible.  
  
He isn't aware he has an audience until Barsad speaks again.  
  
"Why don't you use your magic to heal your face?" His voice is somber, questioning, and his small blue eyes look into his seriously.  
  
He chews slowly at a piece of soft fruit before answering. "I have no magic."  
  
"No magic?" he asks as if such a thing is inconceivable.  
  
"No magic," he confirms as he finishes his food and fixes his mask. "Do no tell me that you have such a thing."  
  
"Of course; all fae have magic."  
  
"Then let me see it. Heal me," he says, not truly believing such a thing is possible.  
  
Barsad looks scandalized. "I cannot use my magic on another; you do not know what you are asking of me! Fae can only use their magic for themselves."  
  
"Any what happens otherwise?" he asks, not surprised to hear the excuse but feeling the slightest pang of disappointment, as well.  
  
Barsad shrugs. "I do not know; something bad. I suspect I would die."  
  
It is a strange companionship, but over time Bane finds that it can be enjoyable to have the little creature in his room, to speak with him each night after a grueling day of training.  
  
He nearly laughs aloud when he overhears other members of the league discussing how their rat problems have mysteriously disappeared.  
  
He tugs off his boots now, grunting as he sits on his pallet. Barsad is there again. He comes and goes as he pleases, but he always turns up at night to sleep on his scarf, always insisting it is kept warm on his chest. Now he is impatient, and Bane can see the tired stoop to his shoulders, how he flops onto the scarf even though is it not in its 'proper place' yet.  
  
"I chased a rabbit for many miles," he announces, face muffled into the wool, "but it finally got the best of me." He sounds disappointed and looks chilled. Bane finds himself running a finger carefully down his back, warming his skin. The grunt he gets sounds pleased and Barsad arches up into the stroke like a cat.  
  
"And what would you possibly do with a rabbit, little friend?"  
  
"Feast," he says dreamily, as though picturing it. For such a tiny creature, he has a voracious appetite. "Then I would bring the skin back for your quest."  
  
"For Talia," he corrects mildly. They have met, though certainly not on purpose. Bane found her one evening in his room, having crowded Barsad into a corner, trying to capture him up in a pillowcase while he chittered angrily.  
  
 _"Bane! Bane! Look what I have found," she shouted when he walked into the room. "Quick, help me catch it!"_  
  
 _"Your quest is a nightmare!" Barsad scowled and flitted up to the ceiling, sitting on one of the rafters and glowering down at Talia's upstretched arms._  
  
 _"See! It speaks!"_  
  
 _It was a small blessing to finally know he wasn't the only one who could see Barsad. He settled her down, bade Barsad to come down._  
  
 _"He is not something to catch, habibti; he is," he paused a moment to consider it, "he is a little friend, I suppose."_  
  
 _Talia watched when Barsad finally landed on his palm, eyeing her with a fierce suspicion._  
  
 _"He's beautiful," she whispered._  
  
 _"Of course I am," he narrowed his eyes, as if his handsomeness could never possibly be in question._  
  
 _"I want to hold him. I'll be careful," she promised, her eyes wide with fascination. He watched them. For a moment, it was if the clock had been turned back and he could see all of her innocence again on her face._  
  
 _"Be careful. He is delicate."_  
  
 _Barsad made a surly noise as such an accusation, but when Talia held her hands out he touched his hand to her finger, seeming to test her for warmness before he slipped into her hands. Her eyes lit up more and she drew him closer to her face._  
  
 _"He is so small," she breathed out in wonder. "If he is your friend, I want him to be my friend, too," she decided._  
  
 _"Feh." Barsad glowered up at her. "Do not insult me with words I do not even know."_  
  
 _"You don't know the word friend? It's not bad, it's good. It's the best thing." She plopped down to sit with him, managing to only jostle him slightly._  
  
 _"I am a good thing," Barsad agreed warily, "tell me more about it."_  
  
 _"Friends protect one another, keep each other safe," she told him seriously, and Bane sat beside her, felt his heart grow warm as she continued to describe to him what friendship was from a child's view, one who had survived hell._  
  
 _Barsad eventually sat cross-legged in her lap, leaning forward on his hands and listening with his full attention. "These sound like good things," he finally agreed. "Very well. We are friends, and you will be my quest, too."_  
  
 _"Then I will keep you safe," Talia promised._  
  
 _"Pah! I am a warrior, I keep myself safe. You are a child, though, aren't you? Even though you are far too big already, what can you do? Can you even hunt?"_  
  
 _"She can catch rats as well as you," Bane told him, and it was quite true. She had a knack for it in the pit._  
  
 _"And I can leap," Talia said quietly, touching against his hair carefully with her fingertip, smiling when it was cautiously allowed, "very high."_  
  
 _"How high?" he asked curiously._  
  
 _"As high as Bane is long, higher even."_  
  
 _"You lie," he said, sounding awed at the notion. "Show me," he demanded._  
  
 _He watched then as Talia leapt around the room with their small friend flying after her, shouting a mixture of encouragements and strange insults. Her laugh sounded more carefree than he had ever heard it before._  
  



	3. Chapter 3

"Perhaps you will catch it next time. I am certain Talia would consider a rabbit pelt a very fine gift."  
  
"She has good tastes," Barsad agrees, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. He sighs when Bane gives in to his curiosity finally and carefully strokes his finger across a wing. It feels warm and smooth. The noise that rumbles out of Barsad is akin to a purr of contentment, and Bane chuckles at how he squirms on his belly to get more of the touch.  
  
"Ah, that is good, so warm." His voice is relaxed and he rolls onto his back, sprawling out contently, casting his gaze up at him. "Will you keep touching them while I stroke my cock? I think that would feel very nice."  
  
He snorts, pulling his hand back. "You are a very self-indulgent little thing."  
  
Barsad makes a displeased noise at his stopping and furrows his brow. "What does that mean?"  
  
"It means you lack discipline."  
  
"Is that such a bad thing?" he asks, and it takes Bane a moment to realize he is making a serious inquiry. "Would I be a better friend if I was 'disciplined'?"  
  
He considers the question carefully. "It might make you a better warrior."  
  
That has Barsad sitting up, looking curious. "How do I do it, then?"  
  
Bane starts teaching him meditation. At first he is quite bored with the entire idea, declaring them to just be sleeping while sitting up, but eventually he takes to it, and at the end of each evening they meditate together before sleeping.   
  
"There, see? I am very disciplined," Barsad declares himself one night after a lengthy session. He stands and stretches out then eyes him. "Now will you mate with me?"  
  
He stares for a moment. He had thought that he was used to the little fae's bizarre lines of questioning, but clearly Barsad still takes some getting used to. "Mate?"  
  
Barsad makes a pleased noise. "I would like to mate. You are very handsome, nearly as handsome as me," the vain little thing boasts, and Bane cannot help but chuckle deeply.  
  
"I am afraid you are a bit small for me," he tells him.  
  
He doesn't expect Barsad to look absolutely crestfallen at the notion. "But you are so warm! And I am disciplined now! Must I be big, too?"  
  
"I am afraid I don't see it working any other way," he agrees easily enough. He's certain there are in fact many reasons such a thing would not work, including his own inexperience, but he knows Barsad thinks in the concrete.  
  
The fae perks up. "Ah, so, if I were big, you WOULD mate with me," he declares happily. "You are wise; I am VERY good at mating," he tells him with no small amount of cheek. When he stretches again and walks around the candle they have been using with their meditation, Bane does not miss how his hips sway in a manner that he supposed might be alluring if Barsad were not smaller than his hand.  
  
"Very well! I will fix this. I will use my magic and be big..." his voice trails off, "I think."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"Well I have never had the need before; I think it will require much practice." He straps his blowgun onto his back. "I will be back when I have learned to be big!"  
  
He doesn't see Barsad for a week. There is a sudden snowstorm, and both he and Talia worry, him with no small measure of guilt wondering if perhaps he had hurt Barsad inadvertently. When he returns one night from training, he feels relief at seeing him fly in from the small window, covered in snow. He takes some time to warm him in his palms, seeing how his tiny teeth chatter until he is warmed through and sprawls out happily in his hands.  
  
"Well?" he finally speaks, looking up at him expectantly.  
  
"Well, what?" Bane asks, puzzled.  
  
"Have you no eyes? Ah, perhaps you just cannot see it because I am sitting." He stands and stretches. "Look, I am much taller now."  
  
Bane tilts his head, studies him, and realizes with some amusement that he has indeed grown.  
  
Perhaps a centimeter.  
  
"I am afraid that is still too small," he tells him gently, almost feeling bad for it with how triumphant he appears.  
  
He gets an angry chitter in response. "What? How big could you possibly need me to be?"  
  
Bane rubs his thumb over his head, feeling the silky, damp strands there. "I am afraid you would need to be about my size for me to consider it, little friend."  
  
"Your—" He gapes. "But you are the size of a mountain! Surely you cannot expect such a thing. No, what of Talia's size?"  
  
He shakes his head quickly at that. "Talia is a child; you would need to be bigger."  
  
Barsad sighs, flopping down to sit. "Somewhere in between, then? That is still very, very big. I am not certain it can be done."  
  
"Do not trouble yourself with it, then," he tells him. "Come to bed, I…" he pauses and strokes his wing lightly, watching his eyes drift shut and hearing the tiny purr. "I have missed you," he admits.  
  
"Of course you have." Barsad smiles sleepily. "I have missed you, too, Bane; still I will not give up on this," he warns, "but I will sleep. Where is my scarf?"  
  
When they sleep that night, it is with Bane's hand cupped protectively over the red wool of the scarf, keeping his little friend safe with him where he belongs.  
  


____________________

Barsad indeed does not give up on his magic.  
  
"I am very disciplined in it now," he tells Bane seriously. "The meditation helps it; thank you, friend."  
  
Bane is not so sure he likes that it means his little friend disappears for days at a time now, coming back spent and sleepy, but he supposes training for all is a good thing. It is probably for the best that their little friend keeps disappearing.   
  
There is trouble in the halls, and with it comes tension. He has almost completed his training, and he should be going through his final ritual soon, but it keeps being delayed with what he feels is poor reasoning. It makes him question their leader’s motives, and leaves him tight with annoyance. If Ra's al Ghul questions his loyalty, he is mistaken, for he will give everything he has to keep his habibti protected.  
  
Still, he finds himself missing the small weight on his chest when he sleeps at night.   
  
When Barsad comes to him next, he flits in through the window looking exuberant. "I have improved! Will you let me show you?"   
  
Bane greets him politely before he nods his ascent. He is not in the best of spirits, but he feels them lift with seeing Barsad for the first time in weeks. He has missed both him and Talia. He has not failed to note how busy she is being kept, and how it takes his time with her from him. He has seen her only once in the past few nights, when she had snuck into his room to sleep, curled under his arm as she often did before, in the pit.  
  
"Good. You will be impressed," Barsad informs him seriously before he sits down on the bedding in front of him.  
  
Bane watches, not expecting much as Barsad forms a meditative pose, his small features tight with concentration.  
  
He certainly does not expect a man to replace him on his pallet with a rush of strange noise. But he is there suddenly, small, still, but most certainly a man, his frame just as lean and muscled as his smaller form, wings still gracing his back.   
  
Bane is speechless   
  
"Ah! See, I told you I would," he grins at him triumphantly. "Now we can enjoy each other’s company. But how do you kiss me without lips?" he ponders aloud then decides, "I suppose I will kiss you, for now."  
  
He leans forward, surprising Bane by placing a tender kiss to his brow. "There, see?" he murmurs quietly by his ear, lips curling into a smile when Bane sighs softly. "We must be quick, though; I cannot hold such a thing forever, even though I am very good."  
  
An intimacy even as small as a kiss is so new to him that just the light press of Barsad's lips warms him inside. When Barsad pulls back, Bane takes in his friend, seeing all of the minute details in his face, so easy to miss before with his size, his heavy, lidded eyes and the bright blue hiding beneath them, the curved tip of his ears. He is, as he has boasted many times, a beautiful creature, far too much for him to even consider being with as he is now, so broken.   
  
Still, he cannot resist bringing his hand up, running his fingers through Barsad's coarse beard.   
  
"Ah," Barsad sighs and makes an approving noise, "that is very nice."  
  
"I am afraid I am not much in the mood," he finally says, stroking his fingers across his high cheekbones.  
  
Barsad looks at him and Bane sees disappointment flash in his eyes for a moment, but then it is gone, replaced with a small smirk. "That is a shame; perhaps next time. Will you at least touch me more with your nice warm hands?"  
  
He finds himself obliging, caressing slowly across the planes of his shoulders, tracing the thick red and black swirls there to his chest. Barsad closes his eyes and tips his head back, making a pleased sound. Somehow, he ends up with his head laid out in Bane's lap, though he certainly does not recall telling him he can take such a liberty.  
  
When his lips part for a content sigh, Bane is taken in by the pink curve of his mouth, his soft lips. He finds himself slowly tracing the pad of his thumb across the circle of them, and the action causes a small shiver to run through Barsad's frame.  
  
"Ah," he smiles, pressing a kiss to Bane's thumb. "I understand now," he says reverently, "you kiss with your fingers. Very clever, friend."  
  
Bane pauses in his touch thoughtfully at that before he brushes against the corner of his mouth. "I suppose that I do, little friend."  
  
"I like your kisses," Barsad happily informs him and kisses his thumb again, trailing down to his wrist to push his lips to his pulse point. Bane thinks that perhaps he likes Barsad's, as well. Barsad is right, though, his magic apparently does not last long. He gets in only a few more caresses across Barsad's neck before he suddenly has a tiny creature pillowed on his thigh, looking content.  
  
"It is hard to keep up for long; I will keep practicing," Barsad says before he demands his scarf to sleep. "Perhaps you will wish to mate next time, friend."  
  
Bane cannot help but wonder if he is perhaps correct.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

He does not have the opportunity to find out, however. While Barsad is away, Ra's al Ghul has finally decided what to do with him: excommunication. The barb stings deeply, particularly when he does not understand why he is receiving such a slight. He has given up so much to keep this man's daughter safe, to help her leap to freedom. How can he be denied something that will allow him to protect her further?

How can he be sent away from her?

They do not want him to see her. They are foolish, though, to think they could ever hope to keep Talia locked away. She has escaped much worse. She is in his arms suddenly, wrapped up tight as he presses his mask to the crook of her neck.

"I will not let you leave me! You promised!"

"Habibti, it grieves me to break my word, but what can I do? You are safe here."

"I don't want to be safe, not if it is without you." Her nails dig into his neck and he would have a better chance of disengaging a python from himself. "I will come with you. I will not let you break your word."

"Talia, you should be with your father, you family; you are young, still."

"I am nearly fifteen, and I want to go with you."

He sighs, running a hand through her slowly growing hair. "Forgive me, clearly you are nearly a grown woman, now."

"Bane." Her voice is serious and she pulls back only so much that she can look fiercely into his eyes. "You are my family; you raised me from hell. My father cannot separate us, nothing can."

She is right. They are alone again, just the two of them against a world that they are still growing used to in its strangeness. They both miss their small friend, but it cannot be helped. There is no going back to the mountain tops, not unless they receive word that Ra's al Ghul is summoning them back.

Instead, they receive word of his death, and that the mountain top has been burned to ash. Talia sheds several tears for him in silence. He wipes them gently, offering his arms. She was not so close to him, but she has so little that each connection she makes is deep. It is not said, but it is in his thoughts that if Barsad still lingered in his rooms then he is no longer alive, either. It fills him with a sense of grief, and he does not share it with Talia, not wishing to cause her any more. 

The league wants them back, wants Talia to act in her father's place. She is eighteen now, and Bane does not wish her to have such a burden on her head, but she agrees, if he will help her, and he cannot tell her no.

They do not return to the mountain top. There are sour memories there, and Talia wishes nothing to do with them. They plan instead where they are, forming a new base of operations. When she tells him that she wishes to finish her father's work, she has his blessing. Her father was, if nothing else, an ambitious man who recognized sacrifice for the greater good. 

Just as the sacrifice they make when they must say goodbye. She leaves him this time, he does not leave her. They hold one another for a long while. Talia questions how she will ever not miss him each passing day.

"I do not know, habibti, for I will think of you each day, too."

"Remember our little friend?" she asks suddenly, and Bane nods, remembering easily though they have not spoken of him in so long. "I still miss him terribly. Giving up a friend is a terrible thing." She hugs him, and Bane rubs her back until she must leave for her flight.

He prepares things for her, works with the league as their plans reach fruition. It is with no small measure of displeasure that he finally makes his way back to what remains of the mountaintop home. It has been rebuilt as per Talia's instructions, and he finds a room similar to the one he one slept in each night. He finds it much harder to sleep in alone, without Talia curled against him or a small weight on his chest.

Even harder when there is a buzzing by his ear.

"Friend, friend!"

When he opens his eyes, there is a flash of red, a weight on his forehead. Barsad is there, kneeling and peering down at him.

"You have returned to me. I thought you dead!"

He feels a rare smile stretch his scarred lips, and reaches out his palm for Barsad to climb into as he sits up. "I thought you lost, as well, Barsad," he admits, taking in his little friend’s appearance for the first time in many years, still small and delicate, but perhaps he seems older, his face more stoic than before. He sits in his palm and watches him.

"I mourned for you for many years. I sang a warrior's elegy for you both;" his small hand touches his thumb, runs along it regretfully, "why did you leave me?"

"It is... complicated. We were forced to leave without warning. If we thought you lived, I would have come back sooner," he tells him, running a thumb across his hair. It is true, he had purposefully avoided this place and its memories, and he feels a measure of guilt for it.

"Lived? Of course I live."

"There was a fire."

"Ah yes, much smoke," he agrees. "I went to the caves until it was gone. I do not like the smell."

He asks about Talia and Bane tells him how big she had gotten when he let her go. Barsad misses her, as well, is pleased to know she is alive and well, too. They spend some time talking, and Barsad is disgruntled to see he no longer has a scarf with him, but Bane promises to knit another for him while he is in the mountains. This satisfies him, and he ends up curled onto his chest, settling for his shirt under him and his hand over him for warmth.

He finds that his little friend has changed in his absence, or perhaps he simply worries that Bane will leave him again. He insists on following him into the halls, hiding tucked into his coat pocket and peeking over the edge of it to see, making quiet comments on their surroundings when he cannot be heard by others. He is not certain how to tell him that he is only there for a month to finalize plans, to make sure everyone is trained and that their supplies are not lacking, that this is a mission they may not come back from. He does not know how to explain such ideas as justice to Barsad.

He is watching men go through drills now from the distance of a balcony. Barsad is cheering softly in his pocket, making crude comments when a hit is gotten in, sounding quite bloodthirsty. He climbs further out and Bane puts a hand to his pocket to make sure he does not topple out into the crowd below.

"Ah, good! She has defeated that one, she will feast tonight," he declares happily.

Bane chuckles and pats his pocket. "She is not going to eat him."

"Then why go to such efforts?" he asks, clearly bewildered at the concept. Bane has to explain training to him, the struggle to gain strength not just through hunting. Barsad is enchanted by the notion.

"Train with me. I will be stronger than any you have under your command," he promises.

"Were you bigger, I would have no doubt, little friend, but you are at an unfair disadvantage."

"You forget, I can be big, I practiced. I can hold it for nearly fifteen of your minutes, now," he tells him triumphantly. Bane relents and lets him transform, grapples with him for a length of time and pins him easily, much to the smaller man's surprise.

"You are quite a warrior," he declares, then presses a kiss to his neck, craning up and nuzzling him with his nose. "Very strong."

He has to brace his arms against the floor to keep from crushing him when he transforms back.

They spend each night with Bane teaching Barsad holds and punches, how to fight against a man and not prey for dinner. Barsad takes each task curiously, is cunning when he masters a new block or twist to his body that un-traps him, gives him an advantage. Bane realizes that if he was one of the league’s men, that Barsad would indeed be the most valuable under his leadership.

There are only a few days left and he has not yet determined how he will tell Barsad he is leaving again. He leaves a finalizing meeting with him in his pocket. He assumes he had fallen asleep during the meeting because he does not poke his head out in the halls, instead, when he fishes him out he is quiet, his face clouded with confusion.

"Tell me… are you very hungry, friend?"

"I am not, but I am sure I can find you something if you are," he counters, seeing Barsad shake his head and peer up at him when he sets him on the bedside table.

"Tell me then, why do you wish to cook so many people?"

"Ahh," he says quietly in understanding. "The fire we are starting is not to cook, Barsad, just like we do not fight to eat."

"Then why?" He looks troubled now. "So many numbers, it seems wasteful, to kill without reason."

"There is reason, little friend. I do not like to kill without it, but it is a hard thing to explain."

"I am wise; you should tell me."

"Very well," he agrees, and does what he can to put such ideas of true justice, of good and evil, of things done that seem cruel but make the world brighter, into ideas that Barsad might grasp. They speak of forest fires, of purging, of new life, and by the end of it Barsad still looks disquieted, but he looks at Bane with sympathy.

"Your quest now… it is a difficult one, to do bad things, but because they are good."

"It is Talia's quest, as well. We are seeking to cleanse the world together, little friend."

Barsad reaches out and Bane obliges, holding out his hand. Barsad merely touches his hands to the tip of his finger, looking at him earnestly. "Then this is my quest, now, too."

"Barsad..." He nods his head in acknowledgement of his loyalty. "That is very honorable of you, very disciplined," he says, choosing a word he knows Barsad likes now and equates with goodness, "but I cannot ask you to come with me in this."

"Come with you?" Barsad sits up straighter and Bane realizes his slip; there is no point in hiding it any longer. He is only putting off something unpleasant.

"I must leave again to fulfill this quest. It is in a very faraway place, a place very unlike this one."

"How long will you be gone?" Barsad stands suddenly, nearly pacing. "When will you return to me? I have just received my friend back again! How am I to keep you safe as friends should when you keep leaving me?"

"Barsad…" He takes him into his palm and sighs, runs a finger across his wing, but he will not be soothed, not until he is told how long it will be.  "I am afraid I may not come back, little friend."

Barsad says nothing when he flies angrily out through the window. He wonders if he will see him again before it is time to go, and his heart is heavy at the notion that he may not.

He is sleeping again when he feels an arm wrap around him. To his sleep addled mind, it is Talia seeking comfort, and he gathers her up, rubs her back to soothe away any dreams. His hand runs across a wing and that gives him pause, makes him open his eyes to see Barsad, big with the aid of his magic and wrapped around him tightly. His face is against his chest damp and Bane holds him a moment, rests his hand into his hair until he speaks, his voice soft, wavering.

"Friend, I do not wish to be without you again," he whispers. "When I thought you dead, my heart ached as though it had been stabbed. You did not tell me, when you made me your little friend, how much it would hurt to be apart from you."

"Barsad—"

"Please, please take me with you, Bane," he pleads softly. "I will be good, I will protect you as friends do, I will be disciplined, I will be big for as long as I can be if you do not just leave me alone again."

"Little friend, this is a mission we may not come back from; I do not wish to see you hurt."

"I feel as though I will hurt forever if you leave and I do not see you again."

Bane relents, laces his fingers with Barsad's and squeezing them in a light grip."If that is your wish, I could not ask for a finer man to watch over me."

He feels the relief in Barsad's body, how it loosens and he smiles against his chest. "I am a fae. I am finer than any man; do not forget yourself."

"Of course, little friend," he agrees in amusement and rolls them so he is gathered on top of him, stroking through his hair until he is small again and fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Gotham is a strange place for them both; neither is used to such urban settings, and Barsad has never seen another building beyond the one built in the mountains. The tunnels of the sewer fascinate him, especially. Bane sends a letter to Talia, encrypted, letting her know of their arrival, and in it he mentions Barsad, letting him leave a tiny handprint in ink to say hello. It is a tense time, and he knows that it will make a rare smile light her face to see it.

In the tunnels, he takes a room for his own. He would not have bothered, but he cannot keep Barsad cooped up in his pocket all day. As they settle and the countdown to Gotham’s reckoning begins, he shows Barsad the thick, soft yarn he has brought with him, watches as the tiny creature rubs the strands against his cheek and hums in approval.

"Very soft; they will make a fine bed scarf," he agrees. Bane does not tell him, rather he shows him several nights later something else he has been working on. It took time to find yarn thin enough, to work with such small needles, but he has knitted a simple set of clothes for him which he touches reverently when presented with, and is confused over how to put them on until Bane assists him.

"I cannot always keep you in my hands for warmth," he explains, and Barsad grins, feels over the small black sweater, the delicate red scarf, almost little more than two pieces of yarn twisted together.

"They are like I am in your hands all of the time if you made them, friend."

The one place he does not want Barsad to follow him is to the pit. He had allowed his little friend to watch the fight from the rafters. He was complimented after, told that he is perhaps even a finer warrior than Barsad, though it is not likely. But when he tries to keep him in the hold of the plane he protests. He has been told the story and he wants to see Bane's beginnings.

"Please, I will say nothing."

"I can only think of one who deserves to be down in that pit, and it is certainly not you, little friend."

"I will come out with you, please, I wish to see what created you, what hurt you," his voice is serious. It is more serious now than it had ever been years ago. He wonders if Barsad has grown or if it is his experiences with them that have changed him. He relents with the promise that he will not once even poke his head from his pocket.

He is quiet on the plane back, they both are. Bane had left many memories of his hell on earth behind and now they are fresh in his mind, clawing at his brain. He has not felt them this strongly since he was made to breathe in the strange fumes of the flower as part of his initiation so long ago. They are alone in the small cargo hold, and when he closes his eyes he is surprised to feel arms around him. He does not open them. He lets Barsad run his hands down his back, make soft noises, quietly comforting him in his own way with the short time he has as one big enough to hold him.

Barsad likes when the bombs go off beneath the city. Bane hears the soft awed noise he makes as he peeps from the tiny hole he has poked into his pocket. He watches all of the people in the stadium and he seems troubled, after, in their rooms.

"What is it?"

"There were many humans there. More than I ever thought possible."

"That is not even the extent of them in Gotham, little friend, only a small portion."

"And we will really burn all of them to ashes?"

"A forest fire purges all in its path," he reminds him, understanding how Barsad has difficulty grasping such ideas.

"And the good gets burned with the bad," Barsad agrees, though he sounds sad to say it, "but sometimes animals are rescued from fire, are they not?"

Bane chuckles, "And did you wish to take in an animal?" Barsad saw his first dog just the other morning, and had insisted that he needed one to ride on. Bane assured him he got along just fine in his coat pocket.

"No, no," he shakes his head, "I only wonder if… if I were to find a good person, if they might be rescued."

This has Bane curious. "Are you hiding something, little friend?" He has finally started to go out on his own again, and while that does make Bane worry at times for him, Barsad assured him that Gotham is no scarier than a mountain and there are many more places to hide. He has even begun to deliver messages to and from Talia. He enjoys going to see her, tells Bane how big she is now with no small amount of grumbling. She lets him play in her jewelry, and he tells Bane how they sparkle in the sunlight like nothing he has seen before.

Barsad shakes his head. "It is nothing, just a question. Your good and evil still confuses me."

"I suppose, if you found someone who was truly innocent in Gotham, that they might be worth saving," he relents easily enough.

He thinks nothing of the conversation as they begin to take over Gotham. Barsad watches it all from his pocket, the chaos, the gunfire, how the people of Gotham turn on one another. He does not think the idea of innocence will be brought up again.

They are patrolling the streets. There is not much to do now beyond wait for the end of this dying city. He puts in appearances to the court to remind others of his presence, how he supposedly rules them now. He often goes out into the fresh air with Barsad, now. The streets are often empty and quiet, and so they talk freely as Barsad watches the snow beginning to drift down in big puffs, reaching out to catch a flake and watch it melt in his palms, sipping it up.

He suddenly looks around at the buildings that surround them and shakes his head. "This way is boring, let’s go another way."

"Boring?"

"Very boring," Barsad agrees quickly. "I do not like to be bored," he reminds him just as quickly. Bane is curious as to why he suddenly sounds uncertain.

"Is there something down that way, little friend? Something you are keeping to yourself?"

He shakes his head hurriedly and Bane finds him to be quite a poor liar.

"I believe we will go this way. You will simply have to suffer a little boredom."

Barsad scowls. "Feh! Fine. I do not really care, either way." But Bane does not miss the way he stands up in his pocket, peering out, almost nervous. There is nothing on the street, nothing out of the ordinary, anyway, and Barsad relaxes, makes a face.

"See? I told you, now I am bored and you must wrestle with me at home to entertain me."

He obliges, but the incident stays in his head, enough that when Barsad has gone out, he finds himself back on the same street, not knowing what to expect.

He certainly does not expect to see his little friend there, hovering in front of a young man's face and chattering at him with excitement. Barsad has never expressed an interest in interacting with other humans besides Talia and himself, but there he is, waving his hands wildly in front of the man's face.

He gets closer, letting his movements be silent, not allowing his boots to make a sound even in the fresh layer of snow.

"You must not be on the streets, tiny bird! I have told you, you are not a warrior and you will be felled!"

The young man nearly rolls his eyes. "It's Blake; I should have never told you my full name, and who are you calling tiny?" He sighs but reaches his hand up for Barsad to fly down to. "I'm fine out here. There needs to be people on the streets keeping watch, getting out messages."

"Yes, yes, you are very brave," Barsad says dismissively, "but that will not keep you alive until I can prove you are not meant to be cooked in the fire."

Blake shakes his head. "Look, I'm still not even sure you're real, ok?"

That gets the most indignant of yells from Barsad, so much so that the corner of Blake's lip almost ticks up into a smile. "Ok, I'm sorry. You're real."

"Of course I am real; how can anything this handsome be nothing but the air? Now you must stay inside, be safe!"

"I can't do that, Barsad. I'm not going to just lay low. I need to be able to help the kids, make sure they've got enough to eat, try and help out elsewhere, where I can. They need me, and it's worth taking a risk to keep them safe."

Bane understands, now, why Barsad has decided that this young man is one worth being kept from the fire. His words, his look of determination as he scans the streets; he is not meant for the fire, he IS the fire, and he inwardly commends Barsad for finding such a rare and precious thing in the squalor of Gotham.

That evening he watches as Barsad happily devours a can of tuna, licking at his hands.

"Tell me, little friend, do you remember our discussion long ago?"

He looks up, almost disgruntled at being interrupted from his feast, but he enjoys conversing too much to complain. He swallows and licks his lips. "Which discussion? We have had so many."

"Forgive me, the one where we discussed the possibility of finding someone in Gotham worth saving."

He looks at him quietly for a long moment before he nods, taking another bite and speaking through it, "I remember such a thing, yes. You told me you did not think there would be any worth saving."

"I did, but you seemed quite interested in finding one anyway. I admire such determination."

"It is DISICPLINE," Barsad corrects quickly, standing up straight, "for I am very disciplined."

"Of course," Bane agrees, "so I was merely wondering if your discipline has caused you to find such a person."

Barsad looks at him for a long time, quiet and thoughtful in his answer of, "Perhaps." He hesitates, then. "I do not know for sure, though; how does one know? How did you know that Talia was your quest?"

He dwells on the question for a long moment before he replies, "I suppose that I just knew she was worth everything I might give up to keep her well."

Barsad tilts his head thoughtfully at that and closes his eyes, clearly thinking very deeply before he nods. "He is my quest, too, then, I think." He looks worried suddenly. "Can one have more than one quest? I would never give up Talia."

"I think, in your case, it is quite possible."

He beams at him and tells him about Blake, about how he saw him fishing in the sewers and was far too curious to not peek closer, for once caught out in the open. Blake had not believed him real at first, an understandable thing, but now Barsad goes to see him often on that same street.

"Fishing?" Bane asks.

"Yes, he says he is trying to catch something in the sewers. I told him not to bother, that I have been down there and not once seen a fish, but he is very determined."

Bane wonders what this Blake's interest is with the sewers and with the underground. He tells Barsad that he should speak with Talia, that she will be interested in his findings. He comes back from his visit from her, excited.

"She says she will meet my quest! But that I must keep a secret. I cannot be there." He looks disappointed for a moment. "She said I would surely give it away."

"You are a very honest creature," he agrees, letting him settle on his shoulder as he twists some yarn between his fingers. "That is certainly not a bad trait, but it makes it quite hard for you to keep a secret."

"I do not like secrets," Barsad agrees quickly enough, watching him work, "it is a strange thing not to say what one is thinking."

"For you, I am sure it is," Bane acknowledges. When Barsad comes back from Talia again, he is more excited.

"She likes him! She says that he has the fire in his soul, that if all goes to the plan, he will be spared."

Bane is happy for him, watches the flutter of his wings and does indeed hope that all goes well. Evacuation of most of the men has always been part of the plan, but only if it was absolutely certain that things would not go awry with their leaving. If so, none will be leaving Gotham. It will be better to burn with it than to let it fester and poison the world further.

Things do not go well.


	6. Chapter 6

There is word, from brothers who have been left to take news from the pit, on Bruce Wayne's state.

He has made the leap. Bane cannot fathom how such a thing is possible, but it can mean only one thing: he will try to come and save his city. There are brothers tracking him now, but if he does manage to come back, they must stay to make sure he dies with it. This means that none will escape the fire.

Barsad takes the news poorly.

"He is my quest, Bane! He cannot burn!" he shouts and flies angrily around him, wings twitching when he lands. "How can you let him die?"

"I am afraid there is little choice in the matter, my friend; communication has been cut off with the outside, now. No one will be leaving."

"No one? But no one includes you, it includes Talia!"

"Yes, little friend," he tells him gently, lifting him into his hand. "I warned you that we may not come back from this. You, however, possess the means to leave, if you wish." He touches his wing lightly and part of him hopes that, for once, Barsad will not be so stubborn.

"Leave my friends while you burn?" He looks pained by the very notion. "How is that protecting? You cannot expect me to! I do not want you to die, Bane! I do not want my quests to die!"

"You promised me you would be strong for this," Bane reminds him gently, if only to ease the guilt in his own chest.

Barsad shakes his head. "You are a bad friend! You are going to let your quest die."

He narrows his eyes, feeling a spark of anger. "That is her wish, Barsad. She is disciplined enough that she understands sacrifice."

Barsad spits. "Perhaps discipline is not such a grand thing, after all."

"If you feel so poorly about it, then perhaps this is not the place for you, after all." He drops him back down onto the table. "Perhaps your undisciplined Blake is where you wish to spend Gotham's final days."

That earns a low growl and Barsad flies up to the window sill. "Yes. Perhaps it IS. My tiny bird does not let his friends be cooked. I will not let him be, either, because that is not what friends do. I will save him, and maybe I will even mate with him, instead," he adds, and Bane finds that their little friend has clearly learned spite over the years. He wonders if it was them that taught it to him as well as so many things he did not know before when he was innocent in that flower.

"Goodbye then, Barsad," he says finally, turning away from the window so that he does not have to see him fly away.

The days are drawing to an end. He spends them alone, and lonely in his heart. It is too risky to communicate with Talia, and he has seen not a hint of their little friend though he cracks the window each night should he choose to come back. It is hard to accept in his heart that he will not see him at least once more.

Two nights left, and he sits by himself again. He feels listless, ties and unties yarn with his fingers, frays it to uselessness before finally giving up on his restless fingers and turning in for the evening.

When Barsad comes to him, it is almost worse than not seeing him again. He looks worn through, pale, his hair matted down instead of its usual swooped up messy locks. When he crawls through the small crack on the window sill, he sits on the ledge and says nothing at first, head hung in his heads. Bane approaches him slowly, crouching down closer.

"I did not think we would see one another, little friend."

He looks at him finally and sighs, shoulders slumping before he flies into Bane's offered hand. He droops against it and seems to take comfort in lying out on his skin. "There are two nights left."

"There are," he agrees, running a finger down his back gently.

"I did not," he stops and Bane can barely hear him he says it so softly. "I have failed my quest," his voice wavers, "I have failed my friends. I cannot keep anyone safe, and we will all die." He sits up and looks up at him reproachfully. "I wish I had never given you my flower. It was a trick. It was all a trick, to make me your friend and then die! You did not tell me how badly you would make me hurt inside." Bane watches as his wings tremble. "It feels as though my heart is always hurting inside of me now when I think of you both here perishing, when I think of my quest in flames, and I cannot take the ache of it."

He listens quietly to his lament, and understands. He has felt many of the same things in his quiet reflections alone. There is little that can be done, however.

"Barsad, will you be big for me now?" He carefully slides a finger under his chin and tilts it up to face him. He nods, looking miserable as he sets him down on his knee, feels his weight shift suddenly until he is heavy in his lap. He wraps his arms around him and sifts his fingers through his hair as he has done before to comfort Talia. He feels the strong body melt into him and sigh, savoring the touch.

"I am sorry this hurts you, Barsad, but it cannot be changed. What of your Blake? You said you would do what you could to leave with him."

"I have found ways, for I am very clever, but he will not go," he tells him, clearly more upset by the thought.

He nods in understanding. "He will not give up on saving Gotham, any more than we can allow it to survive."

Barsad nods and curls into him more. "I am so tired, Bane. I do not like it here, anymore. I want to go home."

"You could go, little friend." He is not surprised when he shakes his head.

"I have already learned once that home is not home without you," he whispers and presses a kiss to his brow.

It does not take long for him to fall asleep in Bane's arms, he is so weary. When he is small again, Bane holds him in his hands. This is goodbye, he is certain of it now. He hesitates for a moment before he lifts his mask, feeling the tingles of fresh pain prick at him but accepting them as he holds Barsad in his palms and presses a kiss to the top of his head, feeling just barely the tickle of soft hair over his scarred lips before he pulls the mask back down and lays him out on his chest for a final night of rest together.

He is gone in the morning, just as he expected.

Talia is captured with a group of officers that afternoon, and he is grateful he will at least get to see her once more. When she is brought to him, they retreat to his quarters and embrace warmly. He runs her fingers through her hair and she lets him hold her for a few long moments, her own graceful fingers curled around his arm.

"I was worried that we would not see one another again," she tells him when he finally allows her to break their embrace, to place a small kiss to his mask. "I have missed you and our little friend."

They sit together and he builds a small fire in the room, letting the smoke drift out the window. He tells her of Barsad's leaving, of his upset. She nods with a quiet sympathy and traces her hand across his.

"Perhaps he will leave," she says softly. "It would be the best for him. He would be safe then."

He nods in agreement, though they both know Barsad will not go. He hopes Blake is taking care of him, keeping him with him for their final moments.

That night, they see their former brother’s symbol emblazoned on the bridge, and know they have made the right choice to stay. If he has come back to fight for his city, they are needed to ensure that the fires consume him.

There is chaos outside of the courtyard when they meet again. His former brother has gained a new determination, and in it comes strength. He does not expect him to attack with such ferocity. It is invigorating until his fist snaps into him with enough strength to damage the mask. He panics for the first time in many years, blows land on him, and he finds himself saved by Talia.  He is comforted by her without words as she tenderly puts him back together, torments Wayne with his failings.

When she leaves, he whispers a final goodbye.

He is certain that she knows he will kill him, even though it goes against her wishes, but she is willing to give that to him, to let him end him for her, he who has caused all of them such grief.

His finger curls around the trigger as he speaks to him, tells him he will have to imagine the fire consuming all around him.

The crash, the sudden explosion of pain in his chest and face is excoriating as he is sent flying across the slick, debris-ridden floor. His armor, his mask, they have taken the brunt of it, but his wounds are still too great. He can feel the metal digging into his skin, the pain of his mask being crushed to uselessness onto his face. Everything is raw, every breath in sears him and he wishes it is his last, but his body is stubborn, even if it will not live, it clings for as long as it can as it always has. He rasps slowly, closing his eyes and waiting for the peace the bomb will bring him, feeling the world ebb and shift around him for what seems like an eternity, the roar of fighting only a distant hum.

"Bane!"

His eyelids are sticky, coated over with dust and blood, but he cannot help forcing them open when he hears his name frantically called, the voice of his little friend close by. Even his small weight on his shoulder is a welcome new pain, to be able to be with him through the end.

He attempts to speak but finds it to be an impossible thing through his battered mask. Barsad is there, though, big for him and slowly working the broken thing from him, casting it aside as he kneels in front of him, his breathing heavy and his eyes wet, frantic.

"Lay down with me?" he manages. The words feel strange, spoken without his mask and through a haze of pain. "It is soon."

Barsad shakes his head sadly. "It is never. I saw it in the air, far, far away."

Bane tries to shake his head; it is impossible, his little friend is just mistaken. He lies down beside him anyway, tries to work off his thick armor, and Bane groans in pain, feels his skin peeling off with it until Barsad makes a choked noise at the realization and stops.

"No, no, Bane, you cannot die; you must get better, please," he pleads with him, clasps his hands to his cheeks. "I cannot lose my friend, please."

Bane sighs at that and closes his eyes once more, tired, wishing he could comfort him, tell him that they will be fine soon enough, but he can speak no more.

He feels it then, Barsad's lips against his own; a kiss that tingles unnaturally. It wakes something in him, makes everything in him feel strange, like he is warmed through, but not by fire, not something that scorches and burns. It is gentle heat, soothing like a warm bath, like he is gently being knit back into place. He aches still, but slowly he can breathe again, slowly he starts to feel more whole than he has since before he was torn apart in the pit.

Drawing in breath is no longer the excruciating experience it was before. He takes a deep breath and feels the warmth slowly seeping out of him but leaving behind its healing. When he opens his eyes, Barsad is in front of him, unmoving. His cheeks look sunken and his eyes dull.

"I am very tired, Bane," his voice is a weak whisper, "will you please hold me with your warm hands so I can sleep?"

Healing or not, it hurts everything in him to move, as though he is ripping apart the new skin in his chest, but he manages, endures, slides Barsad into his hold and curls around him, feeling how cool to the touch his skin is.

"Barsad, why..."

He answers softly, as if it is an obvious thing, "I must protect you, my friend, always," and Bane feels him go still.


	7. Chapter 7

Bane holds him still, feels the damp in his own eyes, for him, for Talia, for his words earlier and knowing that he was right, that something has gone wrong. Gotham lives and everything he cares for in this world is lost to him.

There is shouting, not for him this time, but for his little friend; the officer. He is running in through the broken-open wall. He looks injured, clutching his shoulder where blood seeps from it.

"Barsad!"

He stops when he sees them, runs over and drops down to touch Barsad's shoulder. "Jesus."

Bane sits up slowly, wishing to pull Barsad away, feeling that Blake has no business being here, taking these last moments with his little friend from him, but he is still hurting and Blake puts his hand to Barsad's throat, looks relieved.

"He's still got a pulse. We have to get him out of here, someplace safe," he says firmly, and Bane is too startled by the news to question.

"Help me lift him."

Between the two of them, injured as they both are, they lift Barsad.

"Oh Christ," Blake grunts, taking Barsad's shoulder over his, looking down on the floor.

His wings. They're there now, lying on the ground and looking like an insect’s, desiccated and graying already.

There are bodies all around. He sees many of his men felled, many more of the people of Gotham laid out on the streets and bleeding out, thugs and police alike. There has been a reckoning if sorts, even if it came without fire. Blake is panting hard, a noise of pain leaving him when his shoulder is jostled too much. Bane can see the thick red dripping down as they trudge through wreckage, come upon an SUV, the doors open already. Bane can see a figure laid out on the back seat.

Talia.

He does not understand how she is there, he is only grateful, crawling into the seat with Barsad and holding him out in his lap with Talia. She's heavily injured, her leg twisted unnaturally as she is curled, her eyes closed, her breath shallow, but there is breath and that is what matters. Barsad, as well. He can barely make it out when the doors close, blocking out the sounds of the streets; soft wheezes as he is completely motionless, his chest not even rising with each short breath.

Blake is in the front seat, pulling the door shut with effort.

"Why are you helping?" Bane finally asks, seeing the red still bubbling up from his shoulder when he moves too much.

"He made me promise. He's my… he's my friend," Blake answers tightly, hands gripping the wheel, not able to turn it on, to drive, not at he is now. "He told me about you, about you both. I didn't make the connection between Ms. Tate and HER, until today." He glares back for a moment, betrayal flashing in his eyes. "And I probably never would have until it was too late, otherwise."

"Barsad told you of her true purpose," Bane realizes, and Blake nods sharply, finally giving up and grasping his shoulder, trying to stem the flow of blood, his head dropping back onto the headrest, weary.

"He didn't want to tell me. He made me promise that if the bomb was stopped that I would make sure you were safe. I promised. I don't want either of you anywhere near me," it's said with a particularly dark look at Talia from the mirror, "but I promised, and he needs help, so until he's ok, I'm calling a truce."

Bane touches Talia's hair gently; her face is soft even with the pain in it. She looks so young again. "And what makes you think we will agree to that?"

"Because you love him," Blake snaps out, tightlipped, fingers digging into his shoulder. Bane considers him, Barsad's quest, for a long moment. He will most likely bleed out if he does not stop the wound, but he is reaching for the keys again to get them to somewhere remotely safe. He considers letting him do it, or reaching and ending him now. He is in great pain, but there is enough energy in him still to snap a neck, to crawl into the front seat and dump out the officer's body and drive them away.

He reaches forward and pulls Blake back against the seat to still him, feels the man freeze and close his eyes, set his jaw grimly, as though he has expected no less from him.

"Take off your jacket; I will need it to stop the flow."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, for Blake to nod slowly and strip it off. Bane does what he can, time in the pit makes everyone adept at treating wounds on their own; the doctor certainly did not bother. In time, he has bandaged it. He leans forward, careful not to jostle the precious cargo in his lap, and holds his hand firmly in place on Blake's shoulder to keep pressure on it.

"Drive."

Blake keeps glancing back as he does, eyes flicking over Barsad mostly, but Bane does not miss how he looks at Talia, too, eyes once again darker then. He knows Talia has spent time with him, and the man obviously sees what has happened as a betrayal of sorts, not understanding that Talia found him to be quite a lovely flame, one she would have spared with gladness if they had been able.

"Do you know where you are going?" he asks when Blake squints at the road more than once.

"I… I don't know." He hesitates now, sounding tired. "I was thinking my apartment, but that's probably the pint of blood on the seat cushions talking," he admits. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

Bane instructs him to take a left, leads him out of the dusty streets and to the warehouses where there is a safehouse set up. Any of the League who remain will make their way there. Bane hopes that at least one doctor is among them, but he does not hold out much hope for it. He also hopes he is not making a mistake in placing enough trust in Blake to reveal the resource to him.

When the car stars to drift slightly, he squeezes into his wound roughly enough to get a hiss of pain, a growled out curse, but he is focused again. He makes him speak to him. The responses he gets are tightlipped, but keep them both anchored to reality.

"Where did you find her?" he asks softly, casting his gaze down at them both lying across his lap, pressed together. He wills them to keep breathing, is grateful that he can feel slight warmth emanating from them both. Talia is not unconscious completely, but she is not focused enough to speak. Her hand finds his pant leg, and her fingers tightly hold the material. He wishes he could hold them both, but he must brace Blake still.

"The truck she was driving crashed. She's damn lucky Barsad found her. I didn't think she was alive, at first; I was scared to move her, but didn't have much choice in the matter. Then he went off to find you, right before she fucking stabbed me," he says with scowl. "I don't know what you did to him—"

Bane quickly stops him. "I did nothing. I would never have chosen to do what he did. I am not worth such a sacrifice."

"Is he going to die?" Blake asks softly, sounding pained to ask the question.

"I don't know. He once told me that fae never use their magic to help others, that he thought it must kill them."

"Is that what he did? Is that why no mask?"

Bane stops. He had not fully realized that it was not there. He barely remembers how Barsad tugged it away, the soft press of his lips, but the pain now, while great, is nothing like he should be experiencing without his mask to keep it at bay. "I suppose it must be." He looks down at him and murmurs, "What have you done to me, little friend? What have you done to yourself?"

"Saved your life, without you ever deserving it," Blake mutters, and Bane does not bother to argue it. He is correct, and if he could give this precious gift back and heal Barsad, he would in an instant. Instead, he bids them both to hold on. The warehouse seems empty when they drive into it, and Blake looks around, looks as though he would slump his shoulders in despair if he could move them properly. He is at the end of his reserves.

They are surrounded by guns suddenly, and that does not seem to comfort him any more, though it fills Bane with a sense of relief to see several of his most trusted men there. He calls out an order and the guns are withdrawn, Talia is drawn out of the car reverently, rough hands turn delicate as her followers carry her to the underground level of the warehouse where Bane is told their injured are. There are many and only two doctors among them, but they are grateful; many injured means many have a chance still to pull through.

They ask what to do with Blake, with Barsad. He tells them to treat them as brothers; it is obeyed without hesitation. Blake casts a confused look behind him as he is helped out of his seat. When he stumbles, he sees Kojo there, stooping down to gather his arm over his shoulders with a quiet "allow me, little brother', his usual casual ease replaced with a quiet respect as Blake mutters something at him, tries to pull away.

There is a low laugh. "Well you did not tell me who you were, now did you? I certainly would not have shot you, then." He cannot hear Blake’s retort as he eases Barsad out of the car. He wishes he could carry him by himself, but it would be foolish and risk hurting him more. Instead, another helps to take him down to the makeshift infirmary.

He makes sure Barsad is laid out by Talia, knowing he would like that. Blake is sitting close, his blood-soaked shirt stripped off while being patched up, not by the doctor, they are too scarce at the moment for a clean and cut injury, but Kojo is cleaning the wound, asking his blood type before he sticks an IV into his arm to replenish what he has lost and wraps him.

Talia warrants a doctor; if it were feasible, she would warrant both. She cries out in pain when her leg is set, and he holds her hand, at least relieved that it elicits some response from her. He sees Blake look over and flinch slightly before looking away, staring ahead instead.

He is told the pain is actually a good sign, that she can feel her own legs. Her back is broken, or at least heavily injured from the crash, and they can only do so much here. They lay a blanket over her to keep her warm. When her eyes open for a moment, meeting his, there is almost fear, seeing him without his mask, worry over the pain he might be in, of all things. He touches her cheek.

"Rest, habibti; all is well." It is a lie, the same he whispered to her many nights in the pit after her mother's death, but it soothes her, lets her close her eyes again.

They do not know what is wrong with Barsad. They only know he is not waking up. He does not even know how to explain how he came to be like this, whether or not his heartbeat is normal for him or weak as it is for a human's now. He is still uncertain if he will suddenly become small, perhaps disappear in a puff of smoke as though he was never there at all. The thought fills him with dread.

There are two small planes that have been flown in below the radar with all of the chaos of the day. They cannot fit everyone, but Talia must be on one, she needs proper care. He knows that his brothers will accept any choice he makes regarding who will go and who will stay hidden in Gotham until further extraction, even if it means condemning the more injured to their deaths.

"I'm not letting you just take him out of here and disappear," Blake interrupts their planning. He is sitting by Barsad's head now, his hand on his shoulder. "If you're going somewhere, I'm coming."

"And leave your precious city?" he questions, hearing the bitterness in his own tone for a place that has taken so much from him.

"It's not like I won't be coming back," Blake shoots back at him.

"If you come along, that means there will be room for one less on the plane who needs it."

"I'm supposed to feel bad about that? You all should be dead right now. You were going to kill everyone in this city." He says it fiercely, but Bane knows that he does not mean it; he is a softer man than they.

"Then come, if you choose who will stay in your place," he challenges. It will be better for him to remain. He has kept him alive, did not kill Barsad's quest when he had the chance, but bringing him would only complicate things.

He is begrudgingly impressed when Blake stares out into the crowd silently. He thinks he has won the argument until the man grits his teeth and points to one of the men bleeding out on a mat. He cannot remember his name, though he looks somewhat familiar beneath the grime.

"So, you are willing to let him die, then?"

"I don't forget a face." Blake shoots a look at Kojo pointedly when he says it. "I saw him shoot my partner when I pulled him out of the sewer. Yeah, I'm willing to let him die." He forces the last part out with effort.

"Very well." He has set forth a challenge and it has been met. He stands stiffly, walks over to his brother and kneels beside him. It is a quick snap to his neck. It gets a swear from Blake, his body jolting forward too late as if to stop him.

"What are you doing!"

"You would let him lie here until he finally died on his own, in pain, simply to ease your guilt? He would have died slowly," he places the tips of his fingers over his fallen brother's eyes to close them, "but he would have died. He fought well, and I have given him the quick release he deserves, peace."

Blake says nothing. His lips set into a thin line, his face tense as Talia is slid onto a board, as he is helped into their transport, as Bane carries Barsad who has still given almost no signs of life and ceases to do so even when they board the plane.


	8. Chapter 8

It is a long journey in cramped quarters. They are both laid out on the floor, and Bane and Blake sit beside them, forced together by their worry and the tight space. More than once when he reaches to touch the now greasy and dusty locks of Barsad's hair he accidently touches Blake's hand as he goes to make the same motion.

Talia fades in and out. She is given what painkillers are on hand; Bane refuses them, his own body feels more whole than it has in years. Blake will not take them, either, though whether it is to spare them or because he does not trust drugs from them, Bane does not know.

When she is most lucid, she speaks barely louder than a murmur, and Bane takes her hand, feeling how delicate it feels now and brushing her hair from her face.

"You have found our little friend again," she says softly, sounding pleased, "and his quest."

Blake looks away from her, studies the wall across the plane with great intent until she manages to reach out and touch his pant leg, making him jerk in surprise.

"So sullen; I thought we were becoming friends, as well, John."

"You're not my friend. You're a terrorist and a liar and you STABBED me."

She looks troubled for that briefly. "I was in a haze of pain. I did not realize that it was you; I am sorry."

"You pretended to be my friend."

"That is one of the few things I did not pretend. Our little friend is so enamored with you, John, how could I not find you precious, as well?"

That almost seems to hurt him worse, as though Talia’s caring about him being a truth while she is still everything he stands against is a pain he cannot take. It would be easier for him, Bane supposes, if it were a lie, but it is not. Talia does not care easily, but when she does, it runs deeply through her. She reaches for his hand and takes it, firm even when she is weak. Bane can tell he wants to pull it away but is afraid to jostle her.

"Let go," he says instead.

She curls her fingers around his. "I am sorry, John, that my secrets hurt you. You are a marvel to me; something in Gotham worth saving. I never thought such a thing existed until Barsad showed you to me."

"I'm not worth—" He shakes his head at that, clenching his eyes shut. "You were my friend, you know? I don't make a lot of them. Two friends, and one is a terrorist and the other is smaller than my hand, and they're both fucking dying." The words sound choked and he finally squeezes her hand tightly, nearly too tight.

She shushes him softly and lets him hold onto her, her thumb rubbing over his slowly. She shares a look with Bane. She knows how hard this is for him, to see her weak when it is always her who is the strong one. When she falls asleep again, Blake still holds her hand, though he looks torn by it.

"Did you see her often?" Near the end, Bane was able to communicate with her less and less before the final day. From the look he is giving her now, it seems that perhaps John spent quite a lot of time with her, instead.

"Sometimes," he responds softly. "I tried to see her a little every day. She always..." his voice trails off, but Bane understands, hesitates and puts a hand onto his, squeezing hers with him.

"She always made you feel stronger than you were inside."

He hesitates but nods at that. They spend the rest of the trip in silence; at some point Blake's eyes close in exhaustion and his head lolls onto Bane's shoulder. He glances down at Barsad and thinks about how his little friend would be amused by it and does not move him.

Three days. Bane has to commend how Blake does not leave Barsad's side. He eats there, sleeps there. Talia is with them, and they are both laid out on the bed together. Her prognosis is better than he had hoped; her back is broken, but her spinal cord was not damaged. With hard work, she will walk again, and Bane has no doubt it will be sooner than any doctor could expect.

Barsad has not woken up, but Talia is often awake now for longer spells. She coaxes Blake into speaking with her. He is always reluctant at first, until she draws him in, but by the end he is always holding her hand again, looking torn while she sleeps. It is unspoken between them that if Barsad does not wake, Blake will still have a place with them, not that Bane suspects he would wish such a thing.

She tells him stories, their story. When it is done, he does not miss how Blake's eyes flick over to him. When she sleeps, he asks him if it is true.

"It is."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Because she was a child, because she deserved better than hell."

"Not that; Gotham. There are kids there, too. Innocent little kids, and you were willing to give up your life to save her, but you were going to kill them."

"It did not please me, or any of us, to know children would die, John. It was an unfortunate sacrifice to set the world to rights."

John shakes his head. "You really do all believe that, don't you? That you were doing this as a good thing."

"It would be easier to believe we had evil intentions, I presume," Bane says in understanding, and John looks away, but the answer is clearly yes.

They find themselves talking. Bane finds he welcomes John's questions more than he does the quiet. He learns of his childhood on the third day, when he seems particularly lonely, when there is less hope in his eyes when he looks at Barsad, remaining so still on the bed.

"I am surprised you still hold a love in your heart for your city, after all it has taken from you."

John is quiet after that, like he is letting the thought sink in.

Bane adds, "It is honorable, your commitment to your people, but you could be doing more, helping more than Gotham."

"By destroying it?" Blake asks dryly, but Bane does not answer, for they are both frozen when they hear a soft rasp coming from Barsad. It's more sound than he's made in three days, and they both turn their full attention to him in an instant. Blake's hand cups his cheek.

"Barsad?"

He jolts slightly on the bed, and Bane shoots his hand up to keep him lying down when his eyes snap open. He feels relief flooding into him, can see it reflecting in Blake's eyes.

Barsad's eyes lower, sleepy and barely there, but he licks over his dry lips when he sees them both, and when his eyes flick over to see Talia sleeping beside him he looks satisfied.

"Hey there, little guy." Blake chuckles at himself. "Well, not that little right now I guess, huh?"

Barsad hums softly and his hand reaches out for Bane's. He takes it and laces their fingers. "What you did was very foolish, little friend."

He sees his lips curl up into a smile when he closes his eyes, clearly unrepentant. He is too weak to speak. They get a little water into him, a bite of food before he is asleep again, but now they both know he will wake, and the tenseness in the room has lessened.

It is another day before he is strong enough to speak. Bane brings a tray of food for them into the room when he sees Blake stretched out on the bed with Barsad, his forehead pressed to his.

"You scared the shit out of me," he mutters softly, his hand cupping his cheek. It's intimate, far more intimate than Bane expected to see. When he slides the door open further, Blake is pulled back, sitting up more and looking over.

"He's awake again."

"So I see, but will he eat this time?" Bane sits on the bed close by and puts the bowl into Blake’s hands, surprising him. He holds Barsad's head and feeds him small bites while Bane wakes Talia. She smiles at seeing him awake.

"What has happened to you, little friend?" she asks, her hand brushing against his. "You are perhaps bigger than me, now."

"I-I do not know," he rasps softly, his voice weak. It sounds different, less musical than before, though it still holds a melodic quality to it. "I feel very different, very strange inside. You are all different, too. Everything is strange; I'm not sure I like it," he sounds vaguely upset, still clearly fatigued, but he eats for Blake, calms with Bane's hand running through his hair.

"Can you turn small again?" Blake asks once he turns down more food, seeming to be trying to assess the situation.

"I don't— It feels like something is broken in me," Barsad whispers, "like my magic has left me, like things taste different now and smell different. A-are my wings gone?" he asks, sounding fearful. Neither of them wants to answer, but Bane is the one to gently inform him. Barsad laments, his hands going over his face.

"I am big and hideous now! I might as well be a human creature!"

"I think," Talia says slowly, "that that is perhaps precisely what you are now, little friend. Giving your magic to Bane changed you, made it leave you."

Barsad is far from comforted. He groans weakly, "What a terrible curse!"

"Hey," Blake pulls his hands down gently, "thanks."

"No, no, you are very handsome, Robin, but I feel so clumsy. It doesn't feel right inside."

"I'm sure it'll get better," Blake tries to reassure him. He looks slightly embarrassed, but leans down to whisper in his ear, "And you're still handsome, too, ok?"

"Well of course I am, but not nearly as much as when I am small," he argues, but he looks comforted.

He is surprised when Talia wishes to be moved to her own room, and does not understand it. He offers to move with her, but she insists that she wishes to have some time alone, that his visits are enough.

At first he thinks it is because her physical therapy is beginning soon, that she does not wish him to see her weak, but he begins to understand that she is perhaps trying to give him time alone with Barsad, as well. That is not such an easy thing when Blake does not leave his side. When he returns from Talia, he finds Blake lying with Barsad again, this time it is he who sleeps while Barsad's hand is in his hair. He can sit up now, though he has not yet left the bed, and Blake's head is in his lap, his mouth slack and his body limp with exhaustion from his lack of sleep.

Barsad smiles when he sees Bane, looks pleased and demands he come closer, that he let him lean against him. He finds him hard to refuse when he seems in good spirits. He feels him sigh as he leans against him, making a content noise.

"I miss my wings," he states simply. "I think they are gone forever."

"I am sorry you had to lose them."

"That I am not sorry for," Barsad tells him, resting his head on his shoulder, "not when you are here with me, friend, when I can see your lips."

It has been strange to not wear his mask. He can feel pain in his body still, there are still scars on him, but the pain is nothing compared to what it once was. He had waited for it to come back, to have to don the mask once more, but he is beginning to think that it is like Barsad's wings, gone forever, that they have all become something different from this. Barsad draws him from his thoughts with his fingers on his cheek, with his thumb drawing slowly across his mouth.

He opens his mouth to speak. "Bane—"

Bane does not make him ask. He cups his cheek and draws him closer, curls a strong arm around him and kisses him, feels the press of warm, dry lips against his own, dips his tongue out to wet them, to feel Barsad's soft sigh brush over his own.

"I almost lost you, friend."

"And I you," he returns softly as he kisses him again. He feels a warm tingle rush through him as he does it, not magic this time, but perhaps something close when he is able to partake in something he thought he never would again.

Blake's breathing changes. Bane barely notices until he is sitting up quickly, mumbling an apology and quickly leaving the room, the first time he has done so since they have returned to the league. Bane is not sure he even knows where anything else is.

Barsad is confused, pulling back. "Why is he leaving? I would have kissed him next."


	9. Chapter 9

This makes Bane pause, his mind going back to occupation, to Barsad's words before he left him. "And have you done such a thing before?"

Barsad blinks at him, as though such a thing is obvious. "Of course." He suddenly smirks and looks proud, his old playful look back on his face. "He is almost as good at mating as I am."

Bane understands why Blake left. He has to explain it to Barsad, has to keep his own jealousy from welling up. He had to chance at such things with Barsad once, and declined. It is unfair of him to be upset with him for indulging in another. Still, he cannot keep the feelings from creeping into his chest.

"He is upset because I kissed you?" Barsad is bewildered by such a concept, and Bane finds himself in a poor position to explain such things to him. He himself has had little to do with the world's ideas of what a kiss means, of the ideas of partnering off. In the pit, many laid with many, forced or otherwise, and in the league such things are done with enough discretion that he does not know the nature of them.

"For humans, a kiss is very special," he tries, and Barsad agrees, nods seriously and kisses him again with passion before he answers.

"It is very special for me, too," he whispers against his lips, sending electrifying sensations through him as he flicks his tongue out over them. "I would only kiss one of _you_."

He tries again, "I believe that humans only kiss those they would like to mate..." His voice trails off at the heated look his is given.

"I would like to mate with you, too, Bane." His hand curls around the muscle of his arm and squeezes, weakly, but his strength is being regained. "Not yet, though; I can barely move, still."

"That was not what I—" He stops when Blake walks back into the room, not looking at the bed, walking over to the small window instead and sitting beside it.

"I don't know where the fuck anything is," he mumbles out in explanation. When he glances over to the bed and sees how Barsad is against Bane, he jerks his head away again and stares out the window.

"Robin, are you upset that I have kissed Bane?" Barsad asks him directly, clearly not expecting it to be the case, surprised when Blake flinches and doesn't answer. "Humans are so strange. Will you come back to the bed?"

"Not right now, Barsad."

"But I would like to talk to you, to kiss you, too. I cannot exactly fly over there and do it."

Blake's hands clench a little at that; there's a hurt anger in him that he is trying not to let show. Bane is not sure what he feels, himself, in the situation. It is not one he ever expected himself to be in.

He finally looks over. "I don't want to kiss you Barsad, not if it doesn't mean anything to you. I just, I thought it did, ok?"

"Robin," Barsad's voice is soft, "it means many things when I kiss you," he promises. "It means that you are my friend, that you are my quest, that I feel things in my heart and body when we are close and that I want you to feel them, too. I do not understand why you question that, now."

"Because you were kissing him!" Blake finally snaps, gesturing towards Bane. "People kiss ONE person, Barsad. Just one. They don't screw around like that."

Barsad looks taken aback by that. "But… why? When I care for you both."

"That's, that's just how it is. You're with one person. You don't get to go back and forth.”

Barsad still doesn't understand. Bane is not sure he does, either, but he does know that there was something intimate between them first, that in John's eyes he is the intruder, and he is not far off.

"Perhaps your John is right. He meant no offence, nor did I, John. It will not happen again."

Blake is surprised by the sincere apology. He looks as if he expected Bane to tell him to back away, for him to take Barsad for his own. He nods a little in acknowledgement and Barsad is confused, upset that he does not understand this, but Bane touches his wrist lightly, tells him to rest while he visits Talia. He instead uses the time to walk the halls, clear his mind. He meets with the men, works out extraction projects for those who are still hidden in Gotham.

When he goes onto a balcony to meditate quietly, it is still strange to feel the crisp wind brush across his lips, but he finds his focus eventually. So much so that he is surprised when he breaks from it to see Blake sitting on the railing, looking out into the white of the mountain.

"I asked around," he says quietly, in way of explanation for his being there.

Bane simply nods, waiting for him to say what he will. It is obvious he is not here for the view, though he does watch it, seems fascinated by the lack of manmade structure, by the blankets of unbroken snow. He says nothing, though. He watches and holds one hand over a curled fist, rubs over his knuckles and seems pent up, still, but like he might burst from his seams at any minute.

"Would you join me in meditation?" he asks finally, if only to see if it will ease out the fever that seems to roil under John constantly.

John seems surprised at the offer. "I don't know how."

"I taught Barsad, once. If you ask him, he will tell you he is very disciplined in it."

That makes John let out a short laugh, the side of his mouth twitching. "Alright."

He has him sit beside him, shows him how to breathe deeply just as he did with Barsad so long ago. It takes some time for Blake to be able to find an inner calm, but when he does, it is quiet for them; even the wind seems to settle down, to move with their breathing.

They do not leave until the sun begins to dip down out of sight and the cool air becomes too biting to ignore. He looks over to Blake and sees the furrows and lines in his face look smoother, more at peace with himself; he looks younger. He waits for him to begin to surface before he lightly touches his wrist and asks him if he will break their meditation over a meal with him.

He gives them space. They are technically in his quarters, but he spends much of his time with Talia, with the men. He goes to meditate each day on the balcony, and on most days, when he opens his eyes John is there beside him, breathing in the crisp air slowly. They eat after and bring back food for Barsad. It becomes a routine, something that becomes comfortable, until it is broken.

He is surprised when he opens his eyes to not see Blake beside him. It is the first time in two weeks. He finds he misses the company, and he does not see him in the dining hall, either. He brings a meal to them both, or that is his intention at least when he opens the door, hearing soft, breathy moans from the bed.

Bane sets the food quietly down inside of the door for them, rising up from his crouch. It is not full out embarrassment to know they are doing this, he has seen sex many times in the open areas of the pit, but it sparks something in him now to know there are two beautiful men in his bed, touching one another willingly, that he knows how Barsad's lips feel against his own, has seen the strong cut of Blake's muscles when he stretches out on the bed beside Barsad to rest.

He does not mean for his eyes to flick over to the bed, but a throaty growl catches his attention and he cannot take his eyes off of Barsad, twisted into the sheets, his head bent back as Blake bends over Barsad. Barsad's slender fingers trail down the curve of his back as Blake slurps, shallow, wet sucks that fill the room, and even from a distance Bane can see how John's lips are stretched and red, the way his tongue dips out from between them to lick further down Barsad as he holds him still with a hand to his hip. It is clear Barsad wants nothing more than to move, and he is holding Blake's hair, panting, urging him on.

"Ah-ah! Robin, why do you tease?" He squirms on the bedding when Blake pulls back to breathe, to lick messily along the head of him. Barsad's legs splay apart more when Blake's hand goes from pinning him to petting his inner thigh.

"Haven't gotten to in a while," Blake answers softly. He licks over his lips and kisses Barsad's hip when he makes a soft noise of protest. "Alright, alright."

He should leave. He is going to leave. This is a private moment between them. When he backs away, he just barely sees Blake dipping down to suckle Barsad again, hears his blissful cry when he closes the door to their passions. He feels a heat in his own body, a tingle of desire making his blood run hot and pool down to his cock.

He goes back to meditating, if only to clear the arousal from his body.

John finds him. He does not seem embarrassed, but he looks uncertain when he sits beside him.

"Thanks... for leaving food."

When he looks over, he cannot help but notice how red John's lips are still. He seems to see it, licks them self consciously, and the shine does nothing to detract from their swollenness.

"I did not mean to intrude."

"No, I know," John says seriously. "We didn't mean to do that in your bed, it just sort of happened."

Bane cannot help but smile slightly at that. "He can be very persuasive."

There's amusement in John's eyes at that. He nods. "Yeah. I could, uh, put a sock over the door or something."

Once John explains his meaning, he finds himself agreeing. When he sees the sock, he goes to Talia's, instead. Her therapy is starting, and they are just now realizing that Barsad benefits from it, as well. He has to learn how to walk without his wings. It is easier said than done, to relearn how to balance one's body, and he laments his changing on more than one occasion. Talia is merciless in her teasing when he topples more than once. It pains her to move, to work with the doctors, but to see Barsad work with her eases her. She goads him when he is tired, and it is met with indignant looks and they work harder together.

He asks John one day after a meditation if he would like to train with him. It is met with a skeptical look. "You'll break me in half."

But he looks curious, agrees cautiously. Barsad laughs when he has to be half-carried back to the bedroom, muttering curses at Bane the entire way to the bed. After he recovers, he comes back for more. Bane finds him to be an admirable student; he is strong, fast, inexperienced but willing to accept that and learn openly. He finds himself wondering just how great John might have been if they had found him before occupation.

They end more than one session on the floor, bare-chested and grappling. Bane locks him into a hold and pins him to the ground with a growl, not threatening, nearly playful as he has been enjoying himself. He feels John go still and wonders if he has spooked him, though John has always seemed, at least outwardly, recklessly unafraid of him, even from the beginning.

He breaks the hold to let him up, watches as he clears his throat and sits up. He leaves quickly, and Bane is confused. He mentions it in passing to Talia, surprised when she laughs and will not explain to him what she finds so humorous. He has shared everything with her, the ups and downs of what is going on with Barsad, how he said he would step back despite her disapproval over the idea. Now she merely encourages him to keep spending time with John.

John seems to be avoiding him, though.


	10. Chapter 10

John starts spending more time with Talia, surprisingly. He does not know what they speak of, but he is glad to see they are getting along well, that his perceived betrayal by her is something he is at least trying to put behind him. He has more than once walked in on Blake asleep on her bed, his head in her lap while Barsad speaks happily with her. He is walking now, not long distances, but he can, and happily does, make the short distance from their room to Talia's each day now to spend time with her.

It is Barsad that spurs Blake back into training when he realizes he has stopped, that his meditation is often conveniently forgotten.

"You are being very undisciplined, Robin," he scolds. "I wish that I had the strength to train and you waste yours."

Blake scowls at that, pushing on his shoulder. "You're more than happy with what I waste my energy on," he mutters, but he quietly shows up for the next meditation, agreeing to go train after.

Bane finally understands why Talia was amused with them when the kiss comes.

It is unexpected from either of them, but initiated by both. One minute they are rolling on the thick mats, another Blake is on top of him, pinning him. Bane thinks for a brief moment that it is a poor hold, that it could be broken easily and he should show him how to improve it, but when he looks up there is such an eager triumph in his eyes. The shine to them is beautiful, the way his skin glows from the exertion and his chest rises and falls in quick pants. There is a smirk on his lips and it slowly fades as the air is still around them, as his eyes go from triumphant to flickering with something else entirely.

Blake drops down at the same time Bane dips up, their mouths pressing roughly together, and Bane can taste sweat, the tang of sweet citrus from the orange he watched Blake peel and eat before they grappled. His hands skip down the slick muscle of Blake's back, digging into his hips and bunching the thin fabric of his pants as desire races through him suddenly, nearly dizzying in its unexpectedness. When Blake's tongue slides into his mouth, slicking over his own with a raw kind of hunger, he growls in appreciation.

They part and pant, and when their eyes meet, Bane can see the uncertainty in John's, the cautious gauging of his reaction. He answers it by pulling him back down to kiss again, fingers curling into his hair while he keeps a hand on his hip.

"I'm sorry," John pants the words out so he feels them as much as he hears them.

Bane daringly kisses across his lips to his ear, new territory for him but he likes it, how Blake tilts his head and shivers when he brushes his lips against the shell of it and speaks. "You have nothing to apologize for."

He quells any protest with another kiss.

Barsad is more than pleased. When they finally untangle from the floor of the training rooms and make their way back to the room, Barsad does not have to ask; he sees them, the red mark at the corner of Bane's jaw from a firm nip, the bruised quality of Blake's lips from their sudden over-eagerness. He is elated.

"Finally! Talia said I must only be patient and you would understand things." He stands from the bed on shaky legs and walks to them. He walks to Bane and reaches up to take his shoulders, his eyes going to Blake, questioning. Blake seems almost nervous at the prospect of witnessing it, of agreeing, but nods.

"I'd be a hell of a hypocrite if I said no."

"You would be indeed," Barsad happily agrees, tracing a finger over Bane's lips slowly, "when these are so red from your rough kisses." Barsad stands on his toes to reach him, his own kiss slow and gentle, as if to soothe away the harsh passion from earlier. Each swipe of his tongue is near delicate, flicking across his lips before coaxing Bane's out to play in return, a content noise leaving him as he wraps around him, lets himself be gathered tightly into his arms.

When they end it, both of them look over to Blake. Barsad looks pleased when it is clear he has been staring, is far from being upset as he was the first time they shared a kiss in his presence. Blake can't help but chuckle, putting his hand over Barsad's mouth when he attempts the same with him.

"We should talk about it, first," he explains over Barsad's muffled protest.

He pulls his hand down and bites his fingers playfully. "You may talk, but you can always touch me while you do so," he points out helpfully.

He settles for his head in Blake's lap while they talk. Blake wants to discuss things, what is ok and what is not. Bane finds himself hardly in any sort of position to know the answers to his questions. When he explains why, Blake seems shocked that he has not indulged before.

Barsad's feet have settled in his lap, and he makes a pleased noise when Bane rubs against his ankle. "He was much harder to convince to mate than you, Robin."

That gets a snort. They eventually decide that they will simply take things as they are, explore them as they come. The idea is met with a small amount of wariness from Blake, who would like at least the bare bones of a plan, but he agrees with them finally, and they afternoon is spent with a few kisses exchanged between them all.

Barsad is more than content to spread out between the two of them, his legs in a lazy sprawl. "I will be well enough to spar with you both, soon," he decides when he hears about how their first kiss came to be. "I will accept your kisses as reward when I pin you both down."

Bane chuckles softly, running a hand across the stubble on his cheek. He expects Blake to be amused, as well, but his eyes are suddenly distant and he excuses himself quietly. Barsad is disappointed and tempted to go after him, but Bane wants him to rest more, pulls him in for a kiss and offers to take him to Talia's room, knowing he prefers to sleep with another present, always greedy for warmth.

They are both surprised when Blake is there, talking to Talia softly. Their conversation stops and they turn, Talia beckoning them over.

When Bane asks what is happening, Blake looks away, explains, "Barsad's getting better."

Bane finds that this explains nothing at all. "He is," he agrees finally, and Barsad sits up more, pleased with the praise.

"And now John finds himself at a crossroads," Talia explains, because she always seems better able to assess and understand situations when it involves people, their emotions, "and he does not know what it means for him."

"I thought… that if he got better, we'd go back together," Blake admits, and Bane feels unsettled at the idea of Barsad being pulled away from them, of either of them returning to Gotham. Talia has not yet been well enough to form plans for the city, but he is certain that even without another attempt to destroy it that it is unsafe, and it is so far from them.

Barsad speaks up, "But I do not want to go back to Gotham, Robin, so now you will stay here, instead, yes?" When Blake doesn't look at him, Bane can hear the slight hitch of worry to his voice. "You will stay with me, won't you?"

"That's my home, Barsad."

Talia takes Blake's hand, forcing him to face her, her gaze sharp, understanding. "The pit was once my home, John, but it was no place for me. I left it, and made a new home, not of bricks or stone, but of family."

His eyes are drawn into hers for a long moment and he pulls his hand back. "What's going to happen to Gotham?"

"Justice has still not been served there," Talia replies simply.

John pulls back more at that. "I can't—You can't expect me to just stay when you say things like that. When you're going to go back and destroy it."

"And what would you have me do, instead?" she asks. There is no sarcasm in her tone; it is a blunt, honest question, a curiosity if he has a better thought on the matter.

He levels her with a steady look, one of determination, of one who is defending something they love and knows that this could exonerate it or damn it. "If I can give up Gotham, so can you," he finally challenges, holding his hands tightly together. His jaw is clenched. He wants this badly, Bane can tell. He wants to be able to stay and he wants Talia to give up her father's work.

Talia is never one to make rash decisions. She considers him, places a hand over his. "Do you truly understand all that you are asking of me? To give up what my father has given his life for?"

He nods tersely and his eyes go darker, taking Talia's words as the ‘no’ that she has not yet given, but John does not know Talia as well as Bane does. He does not understand that, to her, John is now family, living family, who is asking her for something that will keep them together. He cannot speak for her, but he suspects he knows what the answer will be even when she says that she needs some time to think.

She takes several days to think. John is quiet during them, not engaging much, but lets them pull him in. Barsad does not let him be sullen; he pushes him onto the bed and nuzzles his cheek, his throat, until he groans and complains about beard burn and shoves at him. When they spar, Barsad walks out carefully to join them in the training rooms, watching them with an eager attentiveness, clearly studying their every move so that he has the advantage when he is well enough.

Barsad is better at hiding his worry than Blake, but when they end up with a moment alone, it slips out. He wraps an arm around Bane and his voice is tight, anxious.

"Will he leave us if she says that she will not give up Gotham?"

He rubs a hand down his back, feeling over the slight lumps of scar tissue left behind, the only traces of the vibrant red wings his little friend was once graced with. "I think that he will feel he has no other choice."

"I do not wish him to go, but how can I go with him when I know neither of you will follow?" He curls against him, sounding lost. "How could I ever choose between my quests, my friends?"

"I am sorry you are in such a position," Bane tells him sincerely, kissing the top of his head, feeling the tickle of soft hair against his lips. "If I could help, I would, but this is something between them both."

He will not push either of them, could not if he tried. He understands, looking at them now, that they are both so alike; both of them children raised in surroundings that should have stamped out their light, but instead they both blaze forward for the world to see. He could no sooner try to sway an argument between the moon and the sun.

When Talia beckons, they all come. John's hands are restless. He is certain that he is going to have to leave, so used to being abandoned, to not being important enough to give up something for. Talia takes his hands and steadies them, fixes him with a look. Even while she is forced to remain in bed, she still looks as regal as if she were about to relay orders to the entire league.

"If I am to give up my father's cause, Robin, then it is your duty to help us find a better one."

John is still, digesting her words. He puts his hands to his face for a fleeting moment and sucks in a quick breath, nearly overwhelmed but not enough that he is willing to let them see him in what he clearly considers a moment of weakness. He pulls them back down quickly, nods tightly, and keeps his voice clear. "I will."

They will discuss it later. Bane has come to realize that whenever Blake expresses a strong emotion, he is quick to shut off after, as though he is guarding himself after exposing a vulnerability, and they wish to stave off the after effects of this raw display. He takes a chance and pulls him into a kiss, feels the tightness in his body and loosens it with his fingers, rubbing slow circles against the side of his neck.

There is struggle inside of Blake's body, it's obvious in the way he tenses, loosens, and then tenses again. Barsad presses in close and his lips are to Blake's ear.

"Robin, it is ok. You are home now, with us." He whispers it, and the words seem to break up something in John--Robin, for if they are all changed, then Bane realizes that perhaps he should be Robin to them all, now. He goes pliant, receptive but eager when he kisses back. He can hear Talia's rich laughter and it breaks them apart, though they both keep a hand on Robin to ground him to them, to not let him drift.

"As interesting as you are to watch," Talia says as she takes Barsad's hand and squeezes it, getting a soft smile from him, "I am certain you will be much more comfortable in your room."

"Are you certain, friend? I am very good at mating, if you would like to watch me," Barsad offers, but he is smirking, teasing even as he dips to kiss Talia's cheek before rising, his legs growing sturdier each day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter tomorrow, my dears!


	11. Chapter 11

In their rooms, Barsad is quick to insist they strip, impatient, even.

"You cannot tell me that you do not wish to mate. I have waited and waited and it seems unfair to make me wait more when it is quite clear you are ready," he declares, crossing his arms as though they are unruly children, refusing to cooperate. He exchanges a look with Robin and they are both laughing softly together, their foreheads touching.

"He has a point."

Bane nods slowly in agreement, though he feels as though he is out of his element here. It apparently shows; Barsad climbs closer to him on the bed eagerly.

"I will show you how I like to be touched."

"Very generous of you," Robin points out, and Barsad smirks.

"It is a very important thing to learn," he agrees as he pulls at Bane's clothing.

"Believe me, it's not hard," Robin tells him, stripping off his own clothing. "He likes to be touched anywhere."

Barsad's eyes lid further at the thought. He lies back on the bed and beckons them with a graceful curl of his fingers, stealing kisses from them both, trading them back and forth and greedily pulling their hands to his body.

"Will you kiss me with your fingers as you did so long ago?" he asks. Robin looks confused, but Bane relents, pets down Barsad's sides, trails his fingers across his belly and scratches until he is nearly squirming from it.

Robin touches with him, and their hands brush. Bane is unsure if it is accidental until Blake glances over at him and he can see the glint in his eyes. He lets their hands touch purposefully now, listens to Barsad's pleased sighs, watches how he parts his thighs and how his cock begins to swell even untouched. When he reaches down so that he might lazily stroke it, Blake catches his wrist.

"You really think I'm going to let you get away with that any more than I usually do?" he asks, his voice rough but playful, and Barsad nearly pouts.

"Then do not neglect it; show Bane how," he challenges.

Robin shakes his head, but he looks at Bane, nods, and Bane takes Barsad's length into his hand, feels the heat and weight of it, and sees how Barsad closes his eyes contently at the touch. He strokes slowly, it is not as though he has never done the same to himself and though the angle is different, he can guess what Barsad enjoys, can watch as he tries to push up into his hand. Robin is pinning him down, though, kissing his chest.

"You have to watch him. He's really greedy," he teases and rolls his tongue over Barsad's nipple, catches it between his teeth and tugs until Barsad whines in the back of his throat and tugs at his hair.

"I—ah," his head drops back on the pillow and he sighs happily, "am not." He protests the accusation and shudders as Robin continues his play at his chest, tugging and mouthing over both of his nipples until they are tender, slick with spit as he breathes over them, getting a soft, hitching moan from Barsad. Bane strokes him through it, feels the hot flesh in his hand twitch with eagerness, a line of precome wetting his fingertips before he rubs it into his soft skin. The flush on Barsad's chest rises to his throat, his cheeks, and he spreads apart more, hooking his leg over Blake's.

"Please," Barsad implores, begging in a way that makes desire curl inside of him, makes him feel the flush of arousal in his own body, "I need—"

Blake cuts him off gently with a kiss, nods against him. He is panting now, too. "I know, don't worry, I know."

When Robin shows him the lubricant they've kept slipped under a pillow, he does not dare ask how they obtained it, truly not wishing to know. Robin takes his hand and guides his slicked fingers between Barsad's cheeks, guides him into stroking over his entrance slowly. Bane feels him nearly writhe as he touches over his hole, rubs slow circles around it until Barsad is trying to push his hips up onto him.

He feels so hot around each finger that he slowly works into him. Bane marvels at how he slowly stretches open around him. Robin tells him to crook his fingers and he does, his slow slide outwards earning a sharp keen. Barsad's body jerks on the bed and he nearly babbles, wanting more touch at the sensitive nerves inside.

Bane takes his time, working out how to find the spot again on his own, gauging each reaction to it, how Barsad's eyes widen at times, clench tightly shut at others, how his body is trembling with the slow, exploratory onslaught. Four fingers is Barsad's breaking point; he is slippery inside, and Bane feels how his squeezes around his fingers, can only imagine the pleasure of having that warmth surrounding him.

"Bane, Bane, please; no more," he cries out softly, pulling at his hand. "Please take me."

He looks at Robin who is brushing his thumb over Barsad's lips. He moves off of the bed, standing above his head. "Do you want us both, Barsad? I bet you'd like that, me in your mouth and Bane in your ass," he murmurs, his hand running across Barsad's throat. "You like being full, don't you?"

"Yes, yes," he chants softly, "I want to be filled with you both. Please do not make me wait longer."

Robin drops down for an upside down kiss, his tongue roughly twining with Barsad's before he pulls back and glances at Bane. "No offense, but if this is your first time, you might want to wait a few minutes before you slide into him. It's not going to last long."

It's sound advice and he nods slightly. Barsad's protest is cut off when Blake's cock presses against his lips. He licks over the tip of him, sighing and opening his mouth. The groan that leaves him is muffled as Robin tilts his head back more so it's dangling over the edge of the bed, bites his own lip and moans out as he pushes forward slowly.

"Just… just relax," Robin whispers out as an encouragement to Barsad who is still, whose eyes are heavy with a look of contentment. Bane watches the thickness of Robin's cock slowly disappearing between Barsad's lips, how he shudders, his fingers digging into Barsad's jaw at the tight wet surrounding him.

He watches the beautiful display of trust between them, and his own desire to join them is strong, but he waits, strokes along the soft skin at the crux of Barsad's thigh until Barsad is squirming, caught between taking deep desperate breaths for Robin when his cock leaves his throat and trying to shift his hips up in a less than subtle hint at Bane.

Bane relents, listening to Robin's panted out instructions to rub lubricant onto himself before he settles more between Barsad's thighs, petting them once more then taking hold of himself, feeling Barsad's heat as he works himself into his slicked opening. He is tight, but Bane feels like he is being welcomed, surrounded by Barsad. It is intoxicating, the pleasure driving through his body, the blood pounding in his ears as he presses forward further, feels himself bottom out inside of him with a long, slow thrust.

Barsad’s hand smacks down onto the bedding before he reaches out, gropes desperately for his own. Bane offers it, and Barsad clasps it tightly, squeezing onto his fingers as Bane shifts his hips, feels the nearly overwhelming sensation off Barsad clenched tightly around him. Each steady stroke in pulls a low growl from his throat, causes the pleasure to build up in him, to curl at the base of his cock.

Barsad's eyes are nearly closed; just a sliver of brilliant blue is watching them as they fill him, as they are all connected together through him. Bane can see Robin's steady thrusts, how his cock is sliding down Barsad's throat, hears the soft grunt from Robin as his hands grip Barsad's jaw like a vise. Bane can understand now why he's at times seen a row of neat little bruises there, Robin's claim on something he is scared to lose.

A soft whine escapes Barsad’s filled throat and Robin shushes him. One of his hands leaves his jaw and slides down his slick skin to his cock, which is flushed an angry red and leaking from neglect.

"I've got you, you know I do," Robin promises, and he wraps his hand around Barsad, jerks him roughly, hands made clumsy from the angle and the intensity of their actions. To Barsad, the touch is perfect; his back bows off of the bed, his body tight with tension as his come spills out into Robin's welcoming hand.

Barsad slumps back onto the bed, shivering with contentment while pleasure races through Bane's body, makes him snarl, snap his hips and bend forward, working himself into Barsad as deeply as possible when own orgasm rushes from him, fills Barsad, and steals the breath from Bane's lungs as he holds tight to Barsad's hand.

Robin is not long after, his body curling in even as he pulls back, the tip of his cock just between Barsad's lips as he pants around it, licks and slurps at him, making an encouraging sound at each thick spurt of come that spills on his tongue until Robin is spent.

Robin drops down on the bed beside them, running his fingers through his hair while he sighs. When Bane leans down to kiss Barsad between his panting, he can taste the bitter salt of Robin on his tongue. Its flavor is mischievously licked into his mouth by Barsad, who pulls on Robin's arm insistently until he is closer to them, close enough that Bane can lie down beside them and drape a heavy arm over them both.

Barsad's voice is raspy when he speaks, breaking the quiet. "You must keep him close, after, or it is as if he drifts away."

Robin snorts softly, but Bane leans over Barsad to kiss him, chuckling at the slight face he makes over tasting himself. "Our quests are quite onerous ones," he agrees, watching as Robin's eyes stare into his, soft brown but burning with harsh fire, "but they are well worth it."

Barsad makes a noise of agreement and Robin is quiet, watching still before he leans up to take a kiss from him, curls closer onto his side to face them. His face tucks against Barsad's chest as he runs his hand down his side. Bane does not have to see it on his lips to know he is smiling for them.

He lies with them in his hold and drifts, thinking back to when Barsad came to him, full of worry that he had found himself with two quests, questioning if such a thing was possible. It is strange, and he finds himself smiling slightly as he thinks of Talia, as he kisses them once more before sleep, to realize that he himself has found three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://relevantlyirreverent.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thank you for reading and, as always, thank you for your kind comments and kudos!


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